


and if you go (i want to go with you)

by FrostedGemstones22



Series: how to save a life [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamy stayed on the ground too, Domestic, F/M, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Pregnancy, if Bellamy was a nightblood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedGemstones22/pseuds/FrostedGemstones22
Summary: "What have you done?" an inner voice asks, one that suspiciously sounds like his mother. Bellamy stares at the black blood oozing from the wound, ruining the perfect snowy white bandage.“What I’ve always done,” He whispers to himself, “And what I’ll always do.”He doesn’t finish, not even out loud, but the last two words hang, the truth, something undeniable and immutable.For Clarke.or,S4 ending AU: Bellamy takes a vial and makes himself a Nightblood too. The years on the ground are not just Clarke and Madi alone, but Bellamy with them too.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: how to save a life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/783510
Comments: 73
Kudos: 331





	1. DAY 0 & 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this year's Bellarke January Joy! This is something I've had written for a bit (like, a year) and this is just an excuse for me to post another WIP! 
> 
> It's a second in a series of me re-writing canon so my OTPs are together (Jactavia, Bellarke, Murven). You do not have to read the book that comes before this one unless you want to. The short of the things important to know is this: Jasper did not commit suicide. He ended up intercepting Octavia and went on a little 'Day Trip' with her instead of Ilian. They're together, so when Octavia won the bunker, she made them co-leaders. That's the most important things or things that might be mentioned in this book specifically. Whenever I get around to posting it, third installment of...geeze, like ten stories, is Murven up in the Ring during the years in space.
> 
> The title comes from Lonely Day by System of a Down.

_ DAY 0 _

“Clarke did what?” 

“Yeah, she totally took the Nightblood herself. Instead of Emori,” Murphy recounted, but he was still staring around the white lab like he didn’t fully trust it, like he didn’t fully trust Bellamy, “And then her mother smashed the radiation machine. Guess we’ll never know if it worked,” He said, hands in his pockets. He seemed angry, perhaps with good reason. To be so tantalizingly close to touching their freedom, their survival, and then watch it burn? Abby Griffin had floated her own husband for the good of the Ark, so yes, it did surprise Bellamy she’d pick Clarke over not just the Ark, but the entirety of the human race. 

“You’re a cockroach,” Raven said as she passed them, her voice tight, “I’m sure you’ll survive.” 

Bellamy expected a snarky response from Murphy, but instead, he just looked at Raven with something not quite pity but not quite sorrow. It was some odd mixture in between. 

“Yeah,” He just muttered in return, “I know.” 

“Where's the tests?” Bellamy asks, snapping Murphy back to attention. 

Of course, Clarke put it in her own arm.  _ Of fucking course she did.  _

It was such a Clarke thing to do, one that infuriated Bellamy to no end, if only because it’s exactly what he would have done. Which is why they were always the ones standing at the end of the world, pulling a trigger, a level, and letting all the guilt fall on their shoulders. 

He hadn’t seen Clarke recently and doubted she’d tell him about her stunt, so instead, here he was, drawing it out of John Murphy. Murphy, from the sound of it, maybe owed Clarke a hell of a lot. Or, since they were going to use his girlfriend as a Guinea pig, perhaps they were all even now. 

Or maybe it didn’t even really matter. 

Time was ticking away. The end drew nearer and nearer. Solutions were dwindling. 

“They’re over here.” John waved to a place on the wall. It was clear of dust, as opposed to many of the other surfaces, which should have clued Bellamy in. Bellamy drew nearer, popping a lid on a small refrigerated container to reveal only one vial left, “Abby made about three doses. One, in a dead grounder. Two, in Clarke. Three...uh, if things had gone right, she would have made more and-The fuck are you doing man?” 

Bellamy looked up, syringe plunged into his arm, right into a vein, the black liquid already half-way injected. 

He didn’t answer, as it seemed rather obvious. His mother always said either do things all the way or none at all, so he continued. It seemed to be giving Murphy a near aneurysm. 

“That could kill you! We don’t know what it does, fucking hell, and they say you’re intelligent!” Murphy grabbed the now-empty syringe from Bellamy’s hand, slapping it on the counter, “Sure, Clarke hasn’t convulsed and died, but one sample size is not a sure-fire ‘it’s okay’ sign. What if it has a delayed reaction? Why?” 

Bellamy opened his mouth, unused to being the one being yelled at instead of the other way around, and by Murphy of all people (when the hell did he mature?), but the reply was really simple. 

“Clarke and I shoulder everything together, I don’t think this should be any different.” 

Murphy dragged a long hand over his face. 

“Just say you love her and get it over with, you absolute idiot.” He replied, stalking away, “You know, if you have a bad reaction and die from this, Princess will come after me, right? Didn’t think of that...course not…” Murphy grouched all the way out of the lab.

Bellamy was left, blinking, as he found a piece of gauze and carefully wrapped it around the puncture hole. 

_ What have you done?  _ An inner voice asks one that suspiciously sounds like his mother. Bellamy stares at the black blood oozing from the wound, ruining the perfect snowy white bandage.

“What I’ve always done,” He whispers to himself, “And what I’ll always do.” 

He doesn’t finish, not even out loud, but the last two words hang, the truth, something undeniable and immutable. 

_ For Clarke. _

  
  


_ DAY 1 _

He means to tell her. About the nightblood, that is. As far as he can tell, the only one who actually knows is Murphy. Raven or Abby might know the last of it is gone, but it’s doubtful they know where it went. Actually, Raven might be able to guess. Even if it was ALIE that taunted him so, it was Raven’s lips and Raven’s mind, and she’d said something no one could deny.

As much as he’d loved Gina, it was always,  _ always _ , going to be Clarke. 

However, things just got busy. Not even busy, per se, but anxiety-inducing. Horrible. Stressful. Busy was used to describe when he had three things due on the Ark and a sister to keep busy. Busy did not describe the mad scramble for the end of the world that occurred. 

His sister fighting for the bunker, for herself and Jasper. His sister winning, though he’d been kidnapped before he could see that. Clarke pointing the gun at him, and for one terrible second, imaging she’d actually do it. Knowing they had to pick only 100 people to survive on. Raven, calling and asking to be picked up. Going out to meet her, where they were now. 

It’s only been a week, but it seems like an entirely since he put that blood in his veins. 

On the plus side, he hasn’t yet keeled over and died. Neither has Clarke. That has to mean something good, right? 

He’s imagined how this conversation would go, a lot. It’s something he knows he should tell her sooner, rather than later, but he also knows that if he does tell her, it will lead to other truths. 

The sort of truth that Murphy so flippantly said in the middle of the lab, the sort of truth that probably wasn’t as much a secret as Bellamy thought it to be. From the way that Harper was nudging Clarke close to Bellamy when they were close, or to the way that Raven would leave a room if either one of them came in to leave the pair alone, to Monty and Jasper making snide comments...yeah, it seemed everyone knew.

Except for Clarke. 

Although, right now, there was something else he had to tell someone, something harder. 

The static crackled, “-Goddamn, just answer...answer...Bell, Bell? Bellamy-,” 

Bellamy jumped on the radio, steadying his breathing to sound normal as his sister’s voice eked out of the bad connection. 

“O! Wow, sibling telepathy, huh? I was just about to radio you.” He said, forcing himself to sound fine, or else he might start to cry. 

“Don’t be so glib! Please, tell me you’re only an hour away, and you’ve gone and taken a stupid break to pee or watch a deer or something?” Octavia pleaded, sounding much more like the small child that Bellamy knew rather than the ruthless winner of a fight-to-the-death competition. 

Bellamy felt a lump deep in his throat, “O...we...shit.” He couldn’t force the words out. Why was it that when it mattered, he couldn’t say anything? 

“Bellamy? What is it?” Octavia knew something was up. Bellamy could hear Jasper talking to her on the other side. 

Jasper was a good kid. He’d matured too. He was good for Octavia, as much as Bellamy didn’t like to think of his sister in romantic relationships. They’d survive together, he knew it. He felt it in his bones. And, since he wasn’t going to be there, he wanted someone who cared for his sister as much as he did. Jasper was that person. Jasper would help her through five years. 

God, this was one of the worst things he’d ever done. His voice was a mere whisper when he finally spoke, sealing his fate.

“We won’t be coming back.” 

XXxxXX

That conversation with his sister went just about how he expected it to. 

Afterward, when he’d hugged Clarke after she’d gotten to say goodbye to her mom, it felt so natural. He’d almost said it, until they were interrupted. 

The next time they were alone, Clarke was scanning and talking about algae farms. Here it was, at the end of the world once again, and Clarke was thinking of the next year and the next and the next. She was relentless in this way. 

Bellamy had planned on going to find something else to do, until Murphy very purposely closed the door on him, glaring at him and then looking at Clarke. He may or may not have told Bellamy verbatim earlier that morning that ‘he wasn’t going to watch them make sad faces at each other five whole years or eyefuck without ever doing anything about it, so I swear to your favorite fucking constellation if you don’t tell her I will’. Murphy didn’t usually have a way with words, but there had been a certain je ne sai quoi to that threat. It was almost poetic if Bellamy hadn’t been so equally embarrassed and horrified by it. 

He knew Murphy would do it. Murphy pretty much never reneged on threats like that. 

He, by this point, hadn’t been necessarily planning on bringing up the whole nightblood thing. They were both going into space, so what did it matter? He thought that it would just come up eventually on the ring, and they’d laugh about it, and maybe prick their fingers to show their blackened blood. Or, he’d wait until he nicked himself on some sharp object and watch as Clarke realized it. 

Did it matter if he'd taken the nightblood? 

_ Yes you idiot, it makes a huge difference!  _ Ah, that voice was uniquely Octavia’s. Good to know he had a whole host of women telling him what he was doing wrong all the time, in his mind. Or, maybe it was just because he didn’t want to let Octavia nor his mother go? 

Either way, his inner voice was right...again. 

And he joked with Clarke, just like they had, once a long time ago. It felt really...right.

This was the time, wasn’t it? To let her know what he’d done, to tell her it was for her? 

Clarke opened her mouth first, “If anything happens to me-,”    
Bellamy felt his blood run cold. 

“Nothing is happening to you.” He said gruffly, angry at the very thought, “Now, come on. Let’s run these numbers again.”   
“Bellamy. Please. I need you to hear this.” Clarke grabbed his wrist. Bellamy expected Clarke to spout off technical information, like how to fix wounds, to give him a crash course on medical knowledge in case she wouldn’t be up there. 

Which was preposterous. Bellamy wouldn’t allow that. He didn’t want to hear Clarke’s instructions. She could goddamn tell him when they were both on the ring. 

“We’ve been through a lot together, you and I,” She began, her voice so soft that Bellamy wondered if she was okay. It was so...reminiscent. So unlike Clarke, “I didn’t like you at first, that’s no secret.” 

Bellamy allowed a smile, recalling how he couldn’t stand her. He’d found her attractive, which had pissed him off more. And, though it had hardly been a year, he felt like he’d known Clarke for so much longer. 

“But even then, every stupid thing you did, it was to protect your sister. She didn’t always see that, but I did. You’ve got such a big heart, Bellamy. People follow you. You inspire them because of this, but the only way to make sure we survive is if you use this too.” 

Bellamy licked his lips. How could he explain that it had never been him, doing it all alone? That it was a joint effort of both of them? Things went to shit when they were apart, didn’t she see that? 

“I’ve got you for that,” Was all he managed, his fingers twitching, almost reaching up. 

“Bell,” Clarke whispered, almost painfully, “Let me just...say something.” She begged.

“Tell me on the ring,” Bellamy said, hating how her tone was, “Tell me then. Please, not now.” This sounded like a goodbye. Bellamy couldn't do another, not after he just said goodbye to Octavia. 

Any rebuttal Clarke was about to say was lost in the frantic sprint to the end of their launch point, starting with Raven unromantically breaking up their moment with a string of about eight cuss words.

There will time for words; all of them, later.

xxx

There wasn’t time, or there seemed there would never be. 

As Bellamy stood in Becca’s lab, counting down the seconds, he couldn’t help but think that Clarke’s premonition that something would happen was correct. 

What if he needed this information later? Whatever she was going to tell him.

In his head, to keep himself from worrying too long, he ran through that last conversation again. Not the one where Clarke had told him to hurry, because that wasn’t more than quickly passed words. She’d looked like she was going to say something else though, from the way her eyes had scanned his face and her eyes had just held his, and this moment felt like forever. 

It had felt like when she was trying to tell him whatever held her mind’s attention, in the lab. It had sounded like-

“Fucking hell, I’m an idiot.” 

“Yeah! What else is new?” Murphy yelled from the rocket, “So get your ass in here, right now, okay?” 

“No, I…” 

Bellamy sent a frantic look back to the rocket, where six pairs of eyes watched him with anxiety, flickering to the door too, waiting for Clarke to arrive.

“Bellamy, we have to go.” Raven said, her voice breaking, “We have to, right now.”   
“She was trying to say she loved me,” Bellamy said, as though that explained everything. He took two strides up to the cockpit, starting the close the door. Murphy lunged, stopping it.

“What the fuck are you doing man?” He demanded. 

“You all go.  _ Now _ .” 

“Not without you? Bell, just get in,” Harper’s voice blubbered. 

“What are you doing?” Murphy repeated. 

“I’m going to find Clarke!” Bellamy said frantically. 

“The radiation’s already affecting the avionics,” Raven reminded the group nervously, “We have to go-,” 

“No! Not until Bellamy gets in the goddamn rocket,” Murphy snapped, daring Raven to argue, “Are you stupid, Blake? Don’t answer that. Just let’s go.” 

“I can’t,” Bellamy said heavily. 

“You’re both going to die here! You won’t even find her and you’ll both die alone.” Murphy argued. 

“I can’t leave her,” Bellamy said resolutely. 

“What am I going to tell Octavia?” Monty asked, “That you died, for what? Bellamy, please, I get it, but would Clarke want you to die for nothing?” 

“You know exactly for what, Monty!” Bellamy said, looking hard at Harper, who was trying hard not to sob. His words did give him pause, but only to consider that Clarke had claimed everything he’d ever done was for Octavia. That was only partially true.

He’d given his sister seventeen years. As much as he loved Octavia...he loved Clarke more. 

Bellamy didn’t want to live in a world where Clarke was dead. He’d rather die too. 

“Bellamy, we have to go now. Get in, please,” Raven implored. 

Bellamy gave a wry grin to the group. He made it seem like he was climbing in, but at the last second, slammed his hand on the automatic door lock, and dove back out. 

“Till we meet again,” He said to his friends as the rocket door closed. He looked back at the faces watching him in utter horror and backed up, right through the safety door a second before it closed. 

He watched the rocket rise up, waving goodbye, though they could no longer see him. 

They’d survive. 

Him, though? 

He looked at his skin, the darkened blood flowing through his veins, “Well,” He said, “It’s now or never, Nightblood.” He prayed. 

He started pacing near the front door. 

Would Clarke even come back? Should he go looking for her? Was she knocked out somewhere? Did she even manage to do what she had set out to do? 

What if the group got up there and they just suffocated, because something had gone wrong on Clarke’s end? 

Bellamy hated all these unknown variables. 

He opened the door to the front and saw a wave of literal fire coming his way. It was, single-handedly, the most terrifying thing Bellamy had ever seen. 

Across the field, he thought he maybe saw someone running. He blinked. Was he imagining it? The heat of the fire was making funny waves, messing with his vision. 

He opened his mouth to call out but was almost bowled over by the combined heat and toxicity of the wave. A thought went briefly to his sister, hopefully huddling with Jasper, safe, waiting for their five years to come up. 

The next thing to hit him was a pain. He threw off his glove to see boils, red and raw, breaking across his skin. 

Of course, this suit wasn’t meant to survive the apocalypse. It was meant to deal with up to near-extreme radiation. They’d just hit extreme. 

Bellamy stumbled, feeling his throat tighten. He was dizzy. 

Fear gripped his heart; it wasn’t working. He was dying. 

His single thought was to make sure he saw Clarke, even just one more time before he died. If there was heaven out there, Bellamy doubted it would welcome someone like him. And, his hell would be to never think of Clarke again, never see her face, never hear her voice, never touch her soft skin. Therefore, he was resolute in his last wish. 

Bellamy slipped backward, landing hard on the floor. He felt vomit rise up in his throat and his fingers scratched to get his helmet off. He threw it off just before he barfed.

It wasn’t bile. It was blood. Black, ominous, and unending. He coughed onto the ground, his head fuzzy and his thoughts no longer entirely coherent. 

He slumped against the floor, watching his skin break and fizzle. The lights in the lab flickered out, around him items fell from the shelf, smashing on the ground. 

_ Just please...if there’s any God anywhere...if I’ve ever done anything right...just let me see Clar- _

His head swam and a black wave rose over his eyes, sending him into nothingness. 

XXxxXX

Clarke stumbled into the lab, her hand pressed over the break in her helmet. It didn’t really matter, the air around her was deadly enough that it would have gotten through an inch of air here or there, one way or another. 

Clarke couldn’t stop thinking about all the symptoms, all the things she’d go through while dying of radiation poisoning. It was times like this she really hated having a doctor for a mother, because after her mom had smashed the incubator, Abby had gone through in explicit detail the horrors Clarke would have faced. 

It seemed to all work out in the end anyway. Here she was, dying, exactly as her mother had explained. 

_ You’re going to hemorrhage next; remember how that felt? A year ago?  _

Clarke choked out blood onto a table, wiping her hand across her chin, like being clean and presentable was even worth it at this point. Her legs buckled out from under her. Clarke slammed onto the ground, her breath wheezing. 

_ It wouldn’t have worked...at least...at least Octavia and Jasper are safe, and I know Raven can do it. Bellamy, god, forgive me… _

She rolled onto her other side, wanting to groan, but the feeling caught in her throat. Across the lab, where fuzzy black things danced on the edge of her vision, she saw another slumped figure...it looked like Bellamy. 

Was her wish that she could have said what she meant to say so great that she was hallucinating him here? It would make sense...her mother warned her of this. That she might feel like she’s going mad, and see things that aren’t there. She’d always thought it would be worse things, terrifying things.

Seeing Bellamy in her final moments was the best thing Clarke’s mind could have come up with, the most soothing idea that existed. 

She blinked and the fuzzies vanished.

Bellamy did not. 

Panic gripped Clarke as she had the very terrible thought that this actually was Bellamy, physically here, dead in front of her.

The idea that she was seeing a dead Bellamy caused Clarke to actually vomit, the idea so disgusting and agonizing that she couldn’t form words. She reached out her finger, although he was yards away, as though she could touch him.

She passed out, her finger stretched as far as she could reach, trying to get to him.


	2. DAYS 4 - 15

_ DAY 4 _

Clarke woke up with a start like some ethereal being had reached down and shocked her back to life. She woke up gasping and sweating, her fingers shaking so hard that she thought there was something terribly wrong. She managed to cup her hands to her face, pressing hard, charting over her features. Two eyes, one nose, lips, ears, hair...the fact that she could even feel was astounding to her, the strangest feeling that she was even breathing bowling her over. 

The area around her buzzed like a radio trying to find proper reception. There was an acute ringing in her ears, something not unlike a fly that wouldn’t leave. 

She was gulping in air like she hadn’t breathed in years. Her throat was so raw and dry that in-between gasping she ended up coughing, the residue of her blood spattering on her palms in front of her. 

Was this heaven or hell? If she was waking up, it had to be in one of these two places. Had her efforts to do good outweighed the bad she’d wrought upon the world? 

As her vision began to sharpen, Clarke realized that this location was familiar. Becca’s lab. So, either the afterlife took the form of Becca’s post-apocalyptic lab as some cruel joke or...

...or she was alive. 

She was crying on the ground before she finished the thought. She dragged her fingers up and down her face, wanting to remind herself at every second that somehow, Clarke Griffin had survived again. 

She hurt all over. It was only as she returned to her full senses- feeling the cold floor of Becca’s lab, tasting the scent of ash and dust in the air, smelling the burning of rubber and something acrid, hearing absolute nothingness beyond the ringing, and the lab brightening around her as her body woke up- that Clarke felt the searing pain of her leg. 

A piece of the ceiling had collapsed on top of her, crushing her left leg from the knee down. 

“Relax Clarke,” She said out loud, “The fact you can feel it is probably still a good sign.” 

She could lift her upper leg, and there was a black puddle underneath her, dried and sticky to her pants. The ceiling that had broken likely most of her bones was also keeping her blood in, or else she’d surely have bled out by now. 

Her throat was parched and there was a fine layer of dust all over her skin. No, not dust, ashes. Ashes of the world that had burnt to crisp around her. From where the ceiling was cracked, the embers still fluttered down, like snow. Clarke had never seen snow in real life.

Clarke began shoving hard at the cement block restricting her. As she did so, her mind began to funnel back the moments leading up to this. 

She’d been sent to fix the satellite. She hadn’t been able to do it in time, not before they had to leave. She’d cracked her suit and vomited all over. And then, as she’d drifted off, she’d  _ imagined  _ Bellamy before her. 

A sharp edge cut her hand as she fumbled, her breath leaving her all at once. 

No, she’d decided he wasn’t imagined. Bellamy had been here with her. 

Clarke twisted her body so swiftly that her leg shifted and a burning pain shot up her back. She bit back a cry, scanning the room. The area where she was sure she’d seen him lying was completely covered in debris and fallen pieces, a large beam separating the space between them. 

“Bellamy!” 

Her voice echoed around the space, bouncing back to her viciously as no one answered. The silence taunted her.

Clarke shoved harder at the block, frantic. Her heart pounded so loud that it overwhelmed all of her thoughts, blocking out the pain of her new wound and of the old. 

She managed to shove the block off and blood welled up again.  _ Dangerous, Clarke, just so asinine _ . Fear had made her lose her mind. She should have made a tourniquet before she tried to get this off, because now her fingers were uneasy and quivering as she tore off a piece of her shirt, firmly tying it off. She couldn’t get it until the third try, not properly. She ripped off a smaller piece for her palm, fisting it as she tried to move. 

Her leg protested immediately. 

Clarke ground her teeth, dragging herself across the floor. 

She had the faintest thought that maybe it hadn’t been Bellamy and it had been a figment of her imagination. That she was stressing herself out for nothing. That she was ignoring a very bad leg wound for nothing. That, even if it was him, there was no way he survived the radiation. That she might find him truly dead and she’d have to face that. 

That thought alone nearly paused her shoveling. 

She couldn’t let it lie, though. It was  _ Bellamy _ . 

She saw another radiation suit and her heart nearly stopped. She felt dizzy and she was sure it wasn’t from her leg. The feeling of nausea rose over her with such a trace of bitterness that it shocked her; here she was, seeing the slightest glimpse of neon fabric and she was battling every single emotion all at once. Anger, sadness, joy, fury, confusion, regret, agony...it was enough to get to any sane person. 

Her fingers hovered, but she put it back in her lap, biting her lip so hard it drew blood. 

He was here. He hadn’t gone with the team. Tears welled at the edge of her eyes. She was going to have to uncover his stupid body, see his stupid handsome and reckless face of his, and come to terms she’d never tell his stupid ass that she was in love with him. 

“He’s not stupid, you’re just angry,” Clarke whispered, sniffling, scowling. If she spoke out loud, she wouldn’t feel so alone. 

Her fingers worked slower this time, wanting him as perfectly preserved as she could. She would give him a nice grave. She’d plant flowers all around if flowers could still be planted. 

_ Bell, I love you, I love you, I love you… _

It was a mantra she repeated in her head as she carefully eased out rocks, wires, and metal paneling to reach him. She realized halfway through she’d begun to murmur it if maybe she could say it a million times, he’d hear across the planes of existence and he’d understand. 

She reached the space that covered his face and reached her fingers out, grasping the sides and pulling it back.

Then, she gazed in a mixture of confusion and, deep down, the tiniest flicker of hope. 

There was black all around his lips. 

Not black like tar or soot, but black like black blood. 

As her eyes trailed down, she saw a cut on his arm and dried cakey ebony blood there too. 

Bellamy was a Nightblood now too? 

Her fingers dropped the metal sheet. It clattered around the lab with such a cacophonous echo that it startled Clarke from her motionless. 

She dove in, fingers pressing against his neck. It took three huge, shuddering breaths to steady herself enough to feel his veins properly, but there it was. Just faintly. A pulse. 

Bellamy was alive. 

Clarke, overwhelmed with endorphins and feeling woozy from her own pain, could only manage to pull his head into her lap and cry. 

_ DAY 6 _

Clarke yawned, blinking awake as she stirred to check Bellamy’s pulse. A small sigh settled over her body; still alive. 

It had been two days and he wasn’t awake yet. Clarke had calculated it had taken her four days to awaken, but her body was more used to nightblood. She’d had Murphy pump it through her body, if only briefly, and so she was sure it must have felt familiar. Bellamy- though she couldn’t guess when he’d done this- had probably been a brand-new Nightblood for less than a month. All things considered, it was a miracle he was alive in a small coma. 

Her fingers rubbed comfortingly over his face. Like her own scarred skin, he had radiation burns that had bloomed everywhere. Most were no longer open and pustulating, just scars that were rough to the touch. They’d started to heal in even the two days Clarke had been observing herself, so she was confident in time they’d fade.

They had five years. They had, in theory, all the time in the world. Especially considering all the shit they’d been through had accounted for hardly a year, five years seemed like eons. The idea she hadn’t known Bellamy for more than a year seemed utterly preposterous, but the math was solid. 

She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to discover him as they existed in their own perfectly paused universe. 

Clarke rested her chin on her crossed arms of the gurney, staring at the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. She hadn’t found much time to sleep at all, worried that if she fell too deeply into dreams, he might coda or seize and she’d wake up and really have lost him. 

He still could die. His body could reject the nightblood or the radiation or just give up. Clarke, being a doctor, acknowledged this truth. 

A part of her was furious with him. She had almost perfected how she was going to argue with him in her mind, all the way she’d yell and hit his chest and ask him how he could have ever done something so incredibly boneheaded. Still, there were no guarantees he would have survived on the Ark. Maybe they didn’t make it. Maybe something glitched at the last second. There wasn’t even a guarantee he’d be alive in the bunker, not if there was a leak anywhere. 

Truth be told, at least with Clarke, she knew he was alive. It wasn’t some weird version of Schrodinger’s cat as it was with everyone else she cared about, but it was confirmed.

Bellamy Blake was alive in front of her. 

Her fingers reached out to trace his hand. 

A punctured lung, a broken arm, so many cuts and bruises, and maybe even a fractured rib and Bellamy was still alive. 

It was enough to make Clarke believe in God or angels because someone out there really loved one of them. 

_ Day 10 _

Clarke examined her leg up on the table with a scrutinizing, medical once-over. The leg that had been crushed by the ceiling. 

She could walk on it, sort of, so things were mostly okay. 

She winced at her own diagnosis... 'mostly okay’. Geeze. 

Not for the first time, Clarke wished for her mom’s medical expertise. 

The wound had been ugly, gaping and near infected by the time she’d stabilized Bellamy and focused on her own pains. After cleaning it out, she’d gone foraging. Not for food, but for supplies. Unsurprisingly, lots of the lab was completely underground or in ruins, meaning her options were severely limited. Where Clarke didn’t find a needle and sutures, she did find a medical-grade staple gun. 

She’d found a rag to bite down on, pinched the two pieces of skin, counted to five, and pressed the button. 

Three staples down her leg to close the wound. It nearly made her pass out, but Clarke knew she had to see this through. It had been, without a doubt, the worst pain she’d ever felt. And Clarke had been through a lot of very painful things. 

Now, nearly a week later, she carefully examined her leg to make sure no infection had slipped in and it was starting to heal as it should. It wouldn’t be pretty when all was said and done, but Clarke would take ‘alive’ over ‘pretty’ any given day. 

There was a noise from the area Clarke had cleared out. It was slow going since she didn’t want to move Bellamy too far and most of the lab was completely useless, but it was clean and sterilized to the best of Clarke’s ability, thanks to a lot of rubbing alcohol. 

At first, Clarke ignored it, thinking it was more of the fallen pieces of the structure settling itself. As the noise persisted, Clarke realized it was a faint groaning noise.

Clarke’s head shot up to Bellamy. While he wasn’t moving, the sound was coming from him.

She threw herself across the room just in time to see him start to roll his shoulders, groaning in pain. She immediately reached for the painkillers, knowing that he was probably in relative agony right now. She hadn’t wanted to give him too much yet, in case that interfered with him waking up. 

“I-,” Bellamy tried to say, eyes closed, but broke off with a cough. Although Clarke had been giving him saline and other necessities through an IV, she knew that his throat must feel so dry. She tipped his head up, soothing him as she pressed a bottle to his lip. He drank most of it, coughing. 

“Clarke, is that...you?” He sounded woozy and tired. His hands flailed and Clarke grasped it. His firm was strong, almost painful, like he didn’t want to let her go. 

“Shhh, Bell, it’s okay, you’re alive,” Clarke whispered, rubbing his head. 

“Hurts.” 

“I know, I know,” Clarke said, “You’re awake, and that’s what matters. I’m going to give you something for the pain, alright?” She asked. Bellamy gave a grunt of agreement. 

Within moments, he’d slipped back under, but at least he was more conscious than last time. Clarke was assured he’d pull through. 

His grip stayed tight around hers until his head lolled again. As soon as his grip loosened, Clarke brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his hand, smiling in relief. 

_ Day 15 _

“Clarke, hey...hey…” Bellamy’s voice was rough but also soft. This was the first time he’d been awake long enough to communicate with Clarke beyond a few raspy grunts and blinks for simple ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Clarke had been sitting in the corner, digging through one of the cabinets for supplies. 

She saw Bellamy try to move. 

“Are you crazy? Lay back down,” She demanded, rushing over and almost forcefully pushing his chest. 

“Ouch, Princess,” Bellamy winced, “Geeze, did you miss the day on bedside manner?” He teased. 

“If you weren’t trying to move after a near-fatal injury, I wouldn’t have to manhandle you,” Clarke replied, but she was close to crying. Every time Bellamy woke up again, it felt like another victory, another moment she was snapped from a dream. 

“So, it was bad.” 

Clarke pulled up a chair. It squeaked noisily over the floors, the floors which she’d meticulously swept of dust and debris. It had given her work to do. Clarke always felt better with busy fingers. Becca’s lab, while mostly destroyed, still had a couple of rooms that were nearer to safe. Sure, this room had a hole in the wall Clarke had just thrown rocks into, but other than that, it was close to immaculate. 

“Why don’t we start with exactly when you became a nightblood,” Clarke asked, her voice even as she held down a mixture of fury and tenderness, all at once. 

“I meant to tell you-,” Bellamy began, wincing hard, “There was just never time.” 

“This seemed significant.” She pressed her hands to her head, “Fuck, Bell, what were you thinking?” At his silence, Clarke looked up. She’d gotten used to reading his expressions, “Right. Yes. Duh. You weren’t.” 

It seemed cruel to put it like that, but it wasn’t far from the truth. It had been a moment of impulsiveness where Bellamy had only chosen with his feelings instead of his head. It was so similar to the old Bellamy, the one that Clarke had fallen for.

She looked at the beds of her fingernails, face blushed as she tried not to meet his gaze. 

“I wasn’t,” Bellamy agreed in a soft tone.

“Well,” Clarke gathered herself, “It did keep us alive. As stupid as it was-,” She grinned, “We’ve survived yet another apocalypse.” 

Bellamy let a slow smile creep across his face. He raised his arms, seeing the burns and the bandages. 

“The burns will fade. They already mostly have. I’m treating your wounds- extensive wounds, let me add. I think you should still take it easy a couple of days, or a week.” 

“Are we safe here?” Bellamy asked. 

“We’re the only ones probably still alive up here. Everyone, no, everything else…” Clarke’s face darkened. Bellamy winced. 

“Right.” 

He looked around the room. It had become the hub of everything; in the corner was Clarke’s bed and boxes of usable items she’d salvaged so far. The food stocked near a sink, one that didn’t really work, along with water. Clothes that weren’t torn to shreds. Weapons.

“Hey, Clarke?” 

“Hmm?” She asked, her eyes trained on him, never wanting to stop looking. 

“Think I could get another pillow? This table is not exactly comfy.” 

Clarke sighed, but nodded, “Now that you’re up, we might move you to a more comfortable bed.” Right now he was just on a table with a mattress pad and a pillow, just so Clarke could assess him properly at any given time. 

He shot her a strange look.

“Weren't you just telling me not to move?” He asked. 

“I guess so. I mean, if you want to stay there-,” 

“Forget I argued,” Bellamy rolled a shoulder wincing. Clarke wanted to reach out, rub his shoulder, but she kept her hands in her lap. 

“Tomorrow I’ll try to find some more soft things. Are you hungry, in the meantime? Thirsty? In pain? Need-,”

“Clarke, chill. Stop taking care of me. I mean, other than my wounds. You don't need to continuously worry about the rest of it.” 

Clarke helped him at least prop up his current pillow so he could lift his head, give him a more comfortable position. She couldn’t stop her fingers from rubbing in his soft black curls, just for a second. 

“Silly Bellamy,” She whispered, almost as though it was just meant for her own ears, “I always worry about you.” 


	3. DAYS 17-43

_ DAY 17 _

Clarke watched Bellamy eat his soup slowly until he wasn’t eating at all. She realized that he was waiting for her to eat. Stubborn, caring ass. 

She rolled her eyes and sipped her luke-warm tomato soup. It was Bellamy’s first day eating actual food since Praimfaya and she wanted to make sure he didn’t overdo it. His stomach wasn't used to solids, and she’d hate for him to vomit it all back up. 

“There’s nothing?” He asked after a small sip. 

“No,” Clarke confirmed, voice rough, “The radiation destroyed everything. I looked. It wasn’t a nice scene.” 

She’d popped her head out a tiny crack just once; all she’d seen around her for miles was emptiness. Just flat, barren, nothing. It was like a nightmare. 

“But are you sure-,”

“Bell, I didn’t exactly have a walk-around,” Clarke growled, her frustration riding over for a moment, “Besides,” She added in a forced-lighter tone, “I had to come back and save you from coding every ten minutes.” 

“I think that’s an over-exaggeration,” Bellamy mumbled, though he ghosted his fingers over his new scars. 

“Okay, fine. Every thirty minutes,” Clarke said. Still, that wasn’t far from the truth. Those first couple days had been so touch-and-go there were moments she was sure that after all this she’d still lose him. He’d die on her watch. She’d be even more alone. To have had Bellamy for just a lingering moment, and possibly to have lost him...the idea plagued her. 

Bellamy’s face was set into a deep scowl, “Think we can stay here for five years?” He asked. 

Clarke looked around, “In  _ here _ ?” She echoed, “You want to hole up like rats for that long?” 

“Well, it’s one of the few places that wasn’t decimated. As far as we know, the only, if that’s true,” She could see the wheels spinning in Bellamy’s mind,” Do we have the provisions?” 

“Comfort and non-necessities? Probably. We have mattresses and books and bits and pieces of everything else. Water? We can make do. The food though…” Clarke sipped her soup a bit more aggressively, reminding herself she couldn’t afford to waste a drop of it. 

“Remember that old-ass movie on the Ark? The one where the guy got stranded on Mars?” 

Clarke tilted her head. It rang a bell, albeit a faint one, “You want us to, what? Grow potatoes?” She was pretty sure that’s what he was referring to, “Bell, I don’t know the first thing about potatoes.” 

“Me either. I’m just saying, maybe under here is dirt that’s still ok. And if we seal it off and plant things...that’s how we do it?” 

They threw back and forth solutions for a while longer, but it became increasingly obvious that this wasn’t going to work. Becca’s lab was just too broken, and besides that, in no shape to have two people inhabiting it. There was a chance that at any moment the foundation would crumble and they’d be trapped or killed. 

“What about the bunker?” 

“Bellamy, the whole reason it was sealed was that it’s toxic out here for five years.” Clarke had thrown out that idea early on, dismissing it mentally as soon as she’d even considered it. She knew Bellamy was smart. Why hadn’t he too? 

“Yeah, but remember the anti-chamber? If just one person goes out, say maybe a SkyKrew that’s more or less radioactivity secure, and let us in and we never open the door again.” 

Clarke gave Bellamy a sad smile. She knew that he longed to be with Octavia.

“You think they’d let us in?” Clarke asked with a gaunt laugh. 

“Jasper probably. Octavia too. C’mon, we’ve saved their asses thousands of times.” 

Clarke considered it.

“We make contact with them. They have engineers there. If they think it’s feasible-,” 

“What other choice do we have?” Bellamy’s voice was sharp, angry. 

The hopelessness of the situation seemed to settle on them, just for a moment. Then, Clarke was actively attempting to shrug it away. Too sad, not when they’d just survived. She didn’t want to think about that all right now. 

“You’re still healing and in no shape to walk to Polis. We have enough rations for at least another three weeks. Longer, if we’re very careful.” 

“Yes, but the sooner we get there…” Bellamy started but trailed off at Clarke’s no-nonsense face. She was perhaps the only person that could quiet him with just a look, something he pulled on his friends quite often. 

“You’re of no use to any of us if you die being stubborn and bull-headed. You’re not allowed to die, so don’t tempt fate.” Clarke said, crossing her arms, scowling. 

“I just want to be safe with O as soon as possible,” Bellamy said, but Clarke knew he saw her logic too. 

“I want to be with my mom. I know. I know. One day at a time, though, right?” 

Bellamy rolled the soup around the bowl. 

“One step in front of another,” He agreed.

  
  
  


_ DAY 23 _

“Clarke?” 

“Hmm?” 

“What if…” 

“What if...what?” 

Clarke rolled over on her stomach to face Bellamy, who was not asleep on his cot across the way. Instead, he chewed on his lip, staring off. 

“Do you think O’s still alive?” He switched the topic. She knew this wasn’t what he had originally wanted to ask, but this was still a dangerous top to broach anyway. And it must be clawing at him, she considered, in the same way not knowing if her mother was still alive was biting at her. When she fell asleep, often the last thing she thought about was Abby, and just how Clarke wished she’d hugged her tighter or that they’d made it all into the bunker together. 

Being without parents really sucked. 

Being without a sister must be worse. 

“If it was sealed, of course,” Clarke replied, but her voice quivered. 

“But what if it didn’t?” Bellamy’s eyes were shadowy and full of heart-rattling worry, “What if something went wrong and we’ll just find their bones in there?” 

Clarke wished she could tell him it would have been painless.

It wouldn’t have been. It would have been sheer agony like every inch of their bodies were being set on fire. It would have crawled through their skin until they were vomiting up blood. It would have engulfed them and they would have died screaming.

But, of course, Bellamy knew this. For he’d nearly died that death too. 

She couldn’t lie to him even if she wanted to.

“Then hopefully they’re in a better place,” Clarke whispered. It was the only peace she could hope for anymore. Life was full of pain and hardships, so there had to be something else after, or else would it even be worth it? She may have only lived hardly 20 years in this universe, but in that time, she’d seen more pain than she thought humans could hold. 

But she’d always come out on top, right?

So, by some twisted and horrifying logic, there had to be a point it was too much.

Clarke prayed she’d never see that day anytime soon. 

“What if everything went wrong?” Bellamy’s voice warbled and Clarke understood this is what he’d been asking to begin with. It was a raw, deep tone, one that was understood to have been the tone he’d been holding back, “What if the bunker didn’t seal and the space group never made it to space, or something didn’t work or they couldn’t figure out the food?” 

“Bellamy, don’t-,” 

“What if we’re the last people alive, Clarke? Anywhere?” 

“It’s no use to think of things like that,” Clarke hissed, feeling tears prickle on the edges of her vision. Her head swam at the very thought. It was a terrifying idea, that there might just be them. 

“Would you still want to…?”

“I wouldn’t leave you,” Bellamy said, sounding affronted at the very suggestion, “But it would be hard. Knowing that.” 

Clarke bit her nails, nodding to herself. In the dim light, she was unsure if Bellamy could even see her motions, but perhaps her silence told him enough. 

“It would be incredibly stupid and cowardly of me to leave you to fend alone,” Bellamy said, as though parsing out the theorized situation. She heard the cot creak as he shifted, wincing audibly as he landed on a still sore wound, “So, god, no. Of course not.” 

“Same,” Clarke said, but just saying ‘same’ seemed so lame. So basic, compared to the surge of emotions that welled up within her, but she didn’t quite have words for that either. 

There was such a long stretch of silence that Clarke almost wondered if Bellamy had fallen asleep. 

“I looked,” He whispered, this tone the most stripped of the tones she’d ever heard him use, “Outside.” 

“Bellamy,” Clarke began, angry and sorry and pitying all at the same time. 

“There’s just fucking nothing out there.  _ Nothing _ . How can you...have...faith,” He wheezed, his voice breaking sharply. Clarke saw his shoulders shake. She nearly stumbled out of bed to reach his side, patting his cheeks. They were wet with tears. 

“You don’t see faith, you just believe in it,” Clarke said, but it sounded stupid as she said it now, “If I believe the world is fucked, then what? It’s better for me to believe it isn’t.” 

“If I had an inch of your soul,” Bellamy gave a rickety laugh, “To see the world through Clarke Griffin’s eyes.” 

“Yeah, but I’ve always wished I had your kind heart,” Clarke whispered back, “I sometimes wish I weren’t so ruthless. Pragmatic.” 

“You’re hardly ruthless.” 

“Oh, I am, at the worst of times,” Clarke sighed, “I hate that you’re here, but I’m also glad,” She said after a second, dropping her head down upon the cousins he was sleeping on. 

“That bed doesn’t look comfortable.” 

“Mine?” 

“Come on up here. There’s room, Princess,” Bellamy said, opening his arms. Perhaps it was the frank heart-to-heart, or Clarke’s feelings that were getting harder to stifle, or the tiredness that make her eyes droop, but Clarke curled up in his arms. 

There was something right about this. 

She sort of understood, in that moment. Together. Always. In everything. 

“There’s a gun…” Clarke began, Bellamy’s head upon her shoulder, her fingers interlocking with his bruised hands, “I found it while cleaning. Two bullets. Just two.” 

Bellamy swallowed. 

“If it ever gets too hard, if things seem unbearable, if there’s nothing left for either of us, truly,” Clarke set her lip into a firm line, “If you die, I die. Simple.” 

She did not want to continue in a word without Bellamy Blake. 

“Suicide pact,” Bellamy sighed, “Dark. Perhaps necessary.” 

“I hope it never comes to that.” 

Bellamy inhaled at her crown, as though engulfing himself in her scent. She tried to imagine that they were together and every night was like this. 

“I hope it doesn’t either. If we have to do things alone, I don’t think I could do it with anyone else.” 

  
  


_ Day 42 _

Clarke’s fingers tightened around the shoulder strap of her bag. She swallowed as she picked her way over the rubble near the entrance. She kept looking back, making sure that Bellamy was still there.

She didn’t imagine she’d ever be able to rest again; she’d always be scanning the horizon, waiting for him to come back. 

“I’m coming.” 

“Do you need-,” 

“No, I do not need your help,” Bellamy said. He tried to keep his voice light, but there was still a hint of frustration underneath it. Clarke almost reminded him that he’d just narrowly escaped death, but she figured he would not appreciate the sentiment. Plus, he didn’t want to seem like dead weight. Not that he ever could be, Clarke thought with an inward snort, but he was never one to take the easy way with things.

Clarke waited until Bellamy stood beside her. They were in the widened entrance to the lab. Bellamy lifted his head to the sun, squinting and blinking at the brightness of it. 

“The world looks…” He couldn’t quite form words. What could he possibly say? Like a nightmare? Dead? Unlivable? Anything he was going to say likely felt so dull. Clarke felt that too. To truly describe the desolation of the entire world would take more words than they had created within the human language. 

“Are we crazy?” Clarke asked, expression blank. She tilted her head, feeling the immense weight of the lab on her back, shoved deep into her backpack. She wouldn’t tell Bellamy, but she’d taken the lion’s share. Not that his backpack was lightweight, but she took it upon herself to haul most of it. 

“To leave?” Bellamy looked back, “We’re nearly out of food. If we wait until we are…” He broke off, grimacing, “Then what was the point of surviving?”

Clarke nodded swiftly, glad she had someone to bounce ideas off of. To talk to. To brush up against. 

“Right, exactly.” Sometimes, it was nice that someone else shared your thoughts on things. 

“With any luck, we’ll arrive at Polis with...how much food left?” He asked Clarke. She’d done the calculations, and this was bearing in mind that Bellamy was currently eating more than she was. Oh, he fought about it, but he was recovering. It would do him no good to starve. 

“Two days.” She said. She knew the walk they had was long but unlikely to be as treacherous as it once was. There weren't any enemies to threaten them anymore. 

“Right. Get there.” Bellamy’s resolve was unparalleled. He used the thought of his sister like his north star. Clarke understood; she viewed her mother the same way. 

“Shall we?” Clarke said, offering her hand to Bellamy. They were rough and calloused, still recovering from the radiation burns.

Together, in unison, they stepped foot outside for the first time in weeks. 

The air tasted the same as it always did. The radiation did not burn their flesh, nor eat them from the outside. They’d been through that already. They've adapted, overcome. They were still here.

The only two people topside in the entire world. 

As they walked, neither talked about the idea that they might not be able to get into the bunker at all. They could not let that slow them down. 

Clarke was not sure that without the bunker they’d survive at all. She wasn’t even sure of their own survival with it. 

Clarke hated uncertainties. 

_ DAY 43 _

“My god.” 

It was the first time Bellamy had spoken in hours. 

Their time in the lab was marked by a lot of silence, though that was more or less due to the fact Bellamy was knocked out. Even when he was awake, his throat was burned and it was better to communicate only when needed.

They’d been walking for twelve hours, give or take. The sun had not relented a second, her bones ached, and her feet were full of blisters. 

What was there much to talk about? It was not like they were both on the Ark and could chat about their jobs or their day or about who liked who. It wasn’t like when they had the camp with the dropship and they could go over their plans for tomorrow. It wasn’t Polis or Arcadia. It was just now, and ‘now’ had little to talk about.

Clarke was unsure who Jasper and Octavia had elected to save. They couldn’t even be sure that their group had made it up to the Ark’s floating bones. To talk and reminisce about their past always brought up ghosts and the world was depressing enough already. Even if Clarke was telling a funny story about Wells or her father, there was the sadness and the agony crushing in that she was never going to see those people again. It’s like her mind had forgotten and she was reliving the pain of losing them. 

So, they did not talk, other than to confirm a direction or agree to pause for a rest. 

Clarke stumbled over a rock, “What’s wrong?” She asked frantically. 

“Is that...no…” Bellamy shrugged off his pack. He was stumbling out into the desert sands. Clarke stared at him, sure he’d gone crazy. She should have waited longer to leave with him. His mind wasn’t all there.

Bellamy was digging frantically. 

At first, Clarke didn’t see it. Just when she was about to pull Bellamy away and check for a concussion or some other brain injury that had him hallucinating, she saw the glimmer of something black and shiny edging out of the sand.

Clarke threw off her pack too, stumbling through the dense sands of the unending desert. She remembered this had been forests only months before, but time and fire had made it into the sand as far as the eye could see. Hot, unforgiving, unliving. 

Clarke grabbed fist fulls too, throwing it behind her.

“Please still be in one piece, please be in one piece,” Bellamy was muttering to himself. 

The top of a rover came into view. 

They dug with resolve, as though possessed. In a way they were; possessed by a single goal. Dig this sucker out. 

It was a lot of work, and half-way through Clarke wondered if they were wasting their time and energy on something fruitless, but eventually, they managed to unearth one of their rovers from the world that had nearly swallowed it whole. 

“Do you remember anything from Raven?” Bellamy asked when it was out, wiping his forehead to try to catch the sweat that dripped from his face. Clarke collapsed in the new shade it created, swallowing and reached for her canteen. 

“It’s a solar-powered car. Chances are it hasn't been charged for a while so…” She forced herself to her legs, as shaky as they were, “Let’s hope for the best.” 

Bellamy gave a dry laugh, “Hope, huh? Hmm, okay.” 

They brushed the sand from the wide, flat tray. There was a hairline fracture near the upper right-hand corner, but Clarke doubted this made a huge difference. They shoved it up against the car, where the sun was beating down the warmest, and then slinked back to the other side where they now were in a cool spot. 

“Oh, stars,” Clarke whispered, exhaustion settling over her entirely. She almost startled back awake, until she recalled that there was nothing to hurt her out here. She could fall asleep naked in the desert and nothing would bother her. 

“How long until it charges?” Bellamy asked. 

“Hmm, not sure,” Clarke admitted, “Four, five hours?” 

“Seems like the perfect amount of time for a well-deserved nap,” Bellamy said, sliding down to sit against the side of the car. He swung his head towards Clarke, a soft smile. He lifted his arm. At first, Clarke blinked, unsure what he meant until he inclined his head, “C’mere.” 

Clarke cautiously scooted up next to him, until she was close enough for him to grab her. He pulled her up against him, his arm slung protectively over her shoulders. 

“Sleep, Clarke,” Bellamy said, almost a command, resting back against the car, “Just sleep.” 

Despite all of her protests, and how hard her heart was thudding so she was sure she’d never calm down enough to sleep, she found it far too easy to be lulled by the steady tempo of his heartbeat. 

When they awoke, Clarke was on the ground. 

She lifted her head to see Bellamy yawning, standing. He must have just woken too. He checked the sky, “Probably about six hours.” He guessed, looking at the position of the sun, “Uhm, the moment of truth?” 

Clarke was going to be really put out if this didn’t work.

They loaded the solar panel onto the top of the car, folding it in. Clarke hopped into the driver’s seat, fingers quivering as she hovered over the ignition.

She pressed it, and for a moment, nothing. Her heart dropped.

Then, just as she was about to curse and hit the steering wheel, it purred to life. 

“Oh, yes!” Bellamy said, arms dropping into the open window of the shotgun seat, “There is someone out there who likes us.” 

Clarke was still unsure on that claim. 

They loaded their gear into the back. Clarke steered; she knew the way.

Bellamy dug through the glove compartment. They found an extremely old granola bar (still tasted good, or at least didn’t taste like dirt), some papers that he couldn’t quite read anymore, and finally…

“Is that Jasper’s iPod?” Bellamy questioned. 

“Maya’s, who Jasper inherited, but yes,” Clarke said. She took the small and slim item and tapped it. It had been plugged in and charged by solar power. Gosh, it had been ages since she’d thought of Maya. “I guess a road trip sucks without music.” 

“He’ll want it back,” Bellamy said, as though Clarke had no intention of giving it up. She’d be thrilled to be able to hand it off to him once they reached the bunker. 

She scrolled; only a few of the songs were familiar to her. She picked one at random and couldn’t help but smile as music filled the cabin. Perhaps things were starting to look up for them?


	4. DAY 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I'll continue updating every week, but with the responses I've gotten so far, it makes it a lot more possible! I love seeing all the love pouring out for this fic :D

_ DAY 46 _

The entrance to Polis, and everything that lay behind, looked simultaneously like nothing Clarke had ever imagined, as well as her worst nightmare whenever she closed her eyes. The giant figures of buildings lay eerily silent, not a single noise in the entire city. The entire surface was blackened, the remains of burned things scattered across the ground like a thick, malicious covering of snow. 

The first apocalypse had not been kind to whatever city this had been before, and the second had been no less understanding. Clarke wondered if this is what Polis looked like when the first grounders found it all those years ago? Was everything they stumbled upon the result of years of building in their own image? Would humans get that opportunity to do it again? 

“C’mon, this is giving me the creeps,” Bellamy muttered, tightening his jacket, as though it was protection from the unnerving feelings that Clarke was experiencing also, “Let’s find the bunker quickly.” 

Clarke could not agree more.

Even in the desolation of the city, it was easy to find the old Heda tower. It had only crumbled half-way. This gave Clarke a thrill of a feeling, as though she were proud of it, when all the other buildings had fallen and roofs lay scattered among foundations, this one had stood the test of fire. It was a beacon, a sign of hope that flared in Clarke’s heart and made her foolishly imagine that they would be perfectly fine.

As they approached the entrance, Clarke’s toe hit something lightweight and ivory. It skittered across the ground and it wasn’t until it hit a wall and stopped that Clarke realized she’d just kicked a bone.

She threw out her arms, stopping Bellamy.

“We’re walking on a graveyard,” Bellamy said in horror. Now that Clarke’s eyes were scanning the ground, she could see the whites of remains peeking out from the gray ash. Though some of the bones had been upended by the fire and winds, it was abundantly clear that these people were all laid out in neat rows, as though they were in a general camp cabin and had all forgotten about the impending apocalypse, and simply gone to sleep.

Though there were no identifying markers left, such as clothes or hair or even flesh, Clarke’s mind whirled. She felt herself sink to her knees, her legs unable to hold her. 

“They’re ours,” She said in a quiet, angry and mournful tone. Bellamy made a sound above her, one of surprise but also confusion. He didn’t get it.

Clarke’s fingers shakily reached out for a skull closest to her. She brought it close to her chest like it was a baby bird, careful not to hold it too tightly, and shook as she cried. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy leaned down next to her, panic painted across his face, “What do you mean?” He was near frantic. 

Clarke had often been frustrated with her given title, Wanheda, but until she stood on the bodies of her people, alive once again, she’d never felt it so personally. She was the survivor of death and had brought all these people to their end. Perhaps it would have been kinder for the entire Ark to die out, like a candle slowly flickering to the end of its wick. 

“It’s…” Clarke tried to form the words, “There were too many of the SkaiKru in the bunker. When Octavavia won and split it equally, most of us had to go,” Clarke’s voice was clogged as she fought back tears, “These are all the ones who didn’t make the cut. It’s our people, Bell.” 

Even though she felt proud of Octavia, and she didn’t completely identify with the SkaiKru anymore, Clarke still felt something like a black hole open inside of her, sucking in the good and pushing out the bad. She could have named everyone who made the perilous journey to the ground. They had survived so much to die like this? 

She wondered who this was, as she brought the skull in front of her face, searching for any sort of sign. She’d made a list. She didn’t know if Jasper and Octavia had found it, or if they’d even used it. Many on the list had perished before they reached the bunker. Some might have been deemed unworthy for this new life. Clarke had no idea how they decided. 

“None of them look young,” Bellamy said cautiously, a bit more stable. Clarke realized that he must have thought she was talking about Octavia, in that perhaps they had never made it in. He sounded a little mournful over the loss of their people, but he’d never loved those who had killed his mother or locked up his sister like Clarke had loved them. His entire experience on the Ark had been nothing short of torture, and while Bellamy wasn’t glad they burned, he was not extolling or addressing a sort of sadness either, “But maybe I can’t tell,” He added. 

Clarke set the skull back down gingerly. She stood, pressing the backs of her palms to her eyes, composing herself. She could sit here and cry, but these people were long dead, and hopefully somewhere better. 

“There’s a path, there.” She pointed to their left. Someone had lovingly arranged everyone. Clarke hoped that perhaps they were dead or knocked out by the time the wave hit. Even if their pain would have been mere moments before they were incinerated, she wouldn’t want the last thing they remembered to be that feeling. 

They approached the side of the tower. No, the front. The back?

It was hard to tell.

Bellamy ran round the edges, cursing all the way when he came back. Clarke cursed herself for letting him exert so much energy; she should have.

“The fuck do we get in?” He asked. 

“There’s no entrance?” Clarke asked, frowning, stepping back to stare up at the monolith that still arched over them. 

“Not anymore,” Bellamy said. He frowned, eyes looking at the assemblage of rocks and stone that blocked them. He started tapping at locations, pressing and pulling.

It seemed to be doing nothing until he grasped the edge of a stone.

“Here!” He said, looking back, “Don’t just stand there, help!” 

Now that he was mere feet away from his sister, his expression and drive shifted. Clarke found this sheer rock to be leaning and as she and Bellamy were able to lift it a few inches, she could see a pathway beneath. 

“Good job!” She breathed when the rock slammed back down. 

“Not good enough,” Bellamy said, angry at himself. He wiped his muddy hands on his shirt, “Here.” He said, spotting a broken pipe. He eased it under the rock. Clarke admired him for a moment; there wasn’t space for her to step in, and she was sure Bellamy would bite her head off if she tried to talk him down. His face was beautiful, even under duress. Though he’d been on bed rest for nearly two months, he still had some musculature. She never properly admired it before this...at least, not in a way she wanted to admit. 

“Should I give it a go?” She offered gently, hoping to ease him away. 

Bellamy stepped back, kicking it, “Yeah. Damn it. If I weren’t sick-,” 

“I know. You’d easily be able to,” Clarke said. She braced her bad leg so that she wasn’t putting weight on it and pushed hard. As the rock started to move, Bellamy got in on the other side. With his help, they shoved the offending rock flat. It puffed up dust, human ash, and charcoal into the air.

Clarke and Bellamy coughed into their sleeves. 

Bellamy crouched low, staring into the darkness, “Looks suspiciously unsafe,” He turned back, a wry grin, “But do we have another choice?” 

It was rhetorical. It was bunker or bust; they both knew it. 

They spent the day clearing out debris, stones, and foundational pieces from the tunnel. Neither knew if they were tunneling in the right direction or if this was going to lead them to the bunker entrance, but it seemed they were out of other choices. 

They ate one of the last few packs of food. They had two days, as Clarke had predicted, even with the help of the rover. They had not expected that the entrance would be caved in, but perhaps they should have. 

They worked in rotation, taking naps, eating, and taking just a moment to listen to Maya’s music. Clarke found she could not sleep fitfully; even her naps were full of trauma and nightmares which startled her awake before she fully entered REM. She knew this was unsustainable; the best sleep she’d had was with Bellamy in the desert, but she could not survive without rest. 

She was trying to sleep, very unsuccessfully, when Bellamy shook her awake. She’d been fully aware of how his foot crushed the dirt under his feet. The wind whipped around the open back of the rover, making weird whispers in her ear that if she let herself slip under sounded like the voices of all those who were dead. 

“I made it,” He breathed. His entire face was dusty and a few shades darker than usual, due to the blackness of the ground currently. When he wiped his fingers across his cheeks, it smudged two lines, bright against the cloying particles. 

Clarke shot up, “Yeah?” 

Bellamy licked his lips, “It’s the chamber to the entrance. It’s here.” 

Clarke scrambled out of the rover, almost throwing herself down the staggered pathway in the tunnel. Her hands scraped the sides of the walls as she tripped to the surface, her eyes catching the room once reserved for those who worshiped Becca and her image. 

“Where’s the…” She frowned. 

Bellamy got on the floor, pushing some dust up. The sound of metal tapping cued them into where it was visible. 

“More rocks,” He laughed, “Suppose it couldn’t be easy.” 

There were no more taking turns. It had been a full day since they’d arrived in Polis and they could not afford to lose this time. Plus, the anxiety and excitement upon finding it, finally, had both of them wide-eyed and awake. 

They managed to clear away most of the rubble. Enough so, theoretically, they should be able to open the door, at least enough to slip in. Bellamy grasped at the handle, pulling and pulling to no avail. Even when Clarke joined in, it would not budge.

Clarke stumbled backward, biting her lip in anger. 

She reached out and felt something smooth. 

In her absolute singular focus in finding the hatch and clearing out space, she’d failed to notice a structure half-buried in the corner.

Her fingers reverently ghosted over the frame of the throne, something clogging up her throat. 

“That’s…” Bellamy whispered, coming to stand next to her, “You okay?” 

“Huh?” Clarke’s mind felt very far away, miles and miles and a time and place apart. 

“I know you really loved her,” Bellamy said quietly, “And I never got to say sorry, not really.” 

Clarke stared at the throne, recalling how Lexa sat on it. Her heart was heavy, just for a moment. 

“I did,” She said, unable to lie to him. She ground her teeth, “But we are alive, and she is not.” 

She grasped one of the wooden spears that made up the throne, ignoring Bellamy’s half-spoken ‘stop’, intent on using this as a tool again. 

Before she could slide it underneath the handle, the world around them shook. Dust fell from the sky like rain and the whole building quivered. 

Bellamy threw himself back, pulling Clarke sharply by the stomach as he went. They hit the entrance to their tunnel hard, and he scrambled just out of the way, Clarke dragging behind him before the structure broke. They both watched in horror as the whole of the building fell in on itself, concealing their entrance and their only hope entirely. 

The piece of wood was still in her hand.

“Are you fucking insane? Didn’t you see that it was holding up a wall?” he demanded. 

“No, I-,” Clarke bit back angrily, but her fury died. It had been her mistake. She’d been too lost in memories and so foolishly intent on throwing them away that she’d been stupid. 

“We have to get in there,” Bellamy said, grasping at small rocks and throwing them behind him, “We have to…” Yet, even as he spoke, the reality set in. It would take weeks to clear away Clarke’s mistake, and they did not have the energy or food for that. Not by her guess. 

“I’ve killed us,” Clarke said in a moment of understanding, staring at Bellamy who was still trying to clear a path, “I’m so sorry. I…” She had never felt so horrible. 

Bellamy coughed hard, standing back. He ran his fingers through his hair, his hands falling still on the top of his head, stoic as a statue. 

“The building could have collapsed on its own,” He mumbled to himself, hanging his shoulders low, “And maybe we wouldn’t have…” 

“Stop it.” Clarke hissed, “Stop trying to make me feel better.”

He sniffled, falling to sit on his bottom, turned away from the building, “Clarke-,” 

“It’s my fault.” She whispered again. 

“I could have made that mistake too,” He said, but she doubted it, “It’s not going to...we shouldn’t…” 

He pressed his lips together. He looked back at the building, his face settling you into a deep frown, “We’re both stupid. And naive.” 

Clarke stared, unsure where this was coming from. He didn’t seem to even notice her, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“What were the chances we’d get in there anyway? That we could even be let in?” He sounded very quiet and very pensive. In light of events, this scared Clarke. 

“What?” 

“We were chasing an imaginary hope,” He said quietly, “They would have been risking their lives to let us in. We’re two people who most of the grounders hate. It would be selfish and if I were on the other side, I’m not sure I...you surely wouldn’t have. You wouldn’t let people in.” 

The memory of pulling a gun on Bellamy was burned into her mind. It was one of her biggest regrets to date. 

“I-,” 

“It would have been the right choice,” Bellamy said firmly, “We should be honest with ourselves. Do we fucking deserve any of that?” He asked, “Do you think we were spared death as some kind of treat? Fuck, this isn’t it. Don’t you see?” 

Clarke frowned, placing her chin on her knees, “You think we’re being punished.” 

“We’ve single-handedly brought the death of hundreds, if not thousands,” Bellamy said, stretching out, staring up at the sky. It was still so blue, surprisingly, “I think this is our hell. It’s our punishment.” 

“You really believe that?” Clarke asked. Bellamy’s eyes were far away from here. 

“Yeah, I do.” He said quietly, “And I don’t disagree. We deserve this. I deserve this.”

Clarke crawled over to him. Without having to ask, he allowed her to curl up on his side. 

“So...we either starve or we finish it. But it’s one or the other.” Clarke surmised, “And we had time together but it’s been spoiled by the choices we made in past lives.” 

“Basically.” 

Clarke breathed in hard, tears gathering in her eyes. She considered that maybe Bellamy was right. Maybe some god still did exist up there and this was the culmination of every bad thing they’d ever done. Someone was laughing at them and spitting on their very existence, waiting to see which they’d choose. 

Clarke looked up, caressing Bellamy’s cheek. He closed his eyes, sinking into her touch like it was a magic salve. She traced the thin scars on his face from falling rocks, mapping the older scars from the year on the ground. 

She was on death’s door. She knew that they were too sensible to think that there might be a last-ditch chance. This had been it. They were out of options; Becca’s lab had no food and the world was dead. They could scrounge around Polis, but chances are it was incinerated or full of mold. 

She felt like she had faced death, stared it in the face, so many times before, but this moment felt starkly different. 

She would hate herself if she died without ever kissing Bellamy Blake. 

Just as she was leaning up, inches away from softly pressing her lips to his, there was static. 

Bellamy whipped his head up, expression snapping into place. 

Clarke paused. At first, she thought it was a trick of her ears.

Then, the static grew louder and more audible. 

“-arke? Clarke? Oh, god, I hope I’m just talking to the wind…You up there?” It was a sing-songy voice, but one laced with frustration. 

“Jasper,” Bellamy muttered, diving for his backpack. They’d brought a small hand-held radio, but somehow in the heat of the work, it had slipped both their minds to attempt to contact everyone down there. At least someone had survived in the bunker, which boded well for the rest. 

Bellamy’s fingers couldn’t hit the talk button, so Clarke took it from his hands, “Yes. I’m here.” 

“Awe...fuck.” Jasper said after a long moment, “You-,”

“Uhm, I’m here too,” Bellamy said his voice breaking. 

There were a sharp gasp and a sob on the other end of the line. Bellamy winced; Octavia. Followed was the sound of frantic moving and lots of shouting and yelling on the other end. 

There seemed to be a scuffle for the radio until someone spoke again. 

“Why in the hell are you not up in space? How are you not dead?” Octavia’s voice was warbling, as though she was trying not to cry, but holding it together for the moment, “Clarke, I’m not surprised that you’re still kicking down here.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Clarke said, but couldn’t help but smile a bit. 

“Honey?” Abby said and Clarke covered her mouth. 

“Mom?” 

“Not now!” Octavia snapped, “Bellamy, you’d better have a good-ass answer…” 

“I’m a nightblood now,” Bellamy said, looking sideways at Clarke, “Surprise?”   
“Shittiest surprises in the history of the universe,” Octavia spat, “Oh if I were face to face, I’d slap you silly.” Bellamy rubbed his cheek, as though feeling the phantom sting. 

“Oh, I’m sure you would.” 

“There was lots of noise down here. What happened? Where are you guys? You’re in Polis, aren’t you?” Jasper said, taking the receiver back over. Sometimes it surprised Clarke to remember how he’d taken control of the kids at Mount Weather. He was a leader and right now was handling the weight well. Octavia and her mother were, very understandable, a bit emotional. She could hear Kane in the background, as well as Indra. She doubted that the pair were feeling overwhelmed by this revelation. 

“Yeah, we’re here,” Bellamy licked his lips, as though weighting something, “We were, uh, trying to clear a path to open the bunker. The foundation was unstable and it collapsed in.” Bellamy very obviously chose not to throw Clarke under the bus.

She was grateful but still felt guilty. 

“The whole building?” Octavia echoed worriedly, “But, I mean if you were clearing a path before…It wasn’t opening from our side. We tried to get to you, well, Clarke.” 

“O,” Bellamy whispered gently, “Before, it was manageable. Smaller pieces. Even if we had the tools, I’m unsure...it’s stuck.” He said. There was a moment of silence on their end. 

“Well, good thing you have five years to dig us out,” Octavia said dryly, “I’ve been down here for less than three months and I’m ready to go back outside.” 

Bellamy gave a sad laugh, holding back a sob, “Yeah, five years.” 

Clarke wasn’t sure if Octavia didn’t pick up on his tone or chose not to, but she seemed fine with that answer. There was some whispering on the other end, the sound of a door opening, and then there was a slow silence. 

“Octavia is going to tell the group that it was you two. Everyone’s wondering,” Jasper said, his voice guarded, “It’s just me and Kane in the room now.”

“Uhm, hi?” Clarke said, shrugging. 

“Oh, cut the bull. I know you well enough to know that your tone isn’t promising,” Jasper snorted, “What are you not telling Octavia or your mom?” 

There was a shared look between Bellamy and Clarke, an unspoken question. Clarke gave a slow nod the same moment Bellamy did. They were in agreement. 

“Jas, we won’t make it two days,” Bellamy whispered. 

“Fuck.” 

“Even though we survived the radiation, the rest of the world didn’t,” Clarke took over, hating that she was imaging the look on Jasper’s face right now, “There’s nothing out here and we don’t have any food. Not much more, at least. Our last chance was the bunker and-,” She used to be better at giving bad news without crying. Now, she couldn’t stop. 

“Have you been to Arcadia yet?” Kane spoke from the side. 

“No, we came right here once we left Becca’s lab,” Bellamy said, brows knitting in confusion. 

“Yes!” Jasper said in the background, his voice lighting up with excitement, “Why didn’t I...awe, you're a genius, Kane!” 

“Care to explain?” Clarke asked. 

“Food! Seeds! There are some seeds that survived from Agro station, way back when. We buried them in the ground, in like five boxes, for safekeeping. We left them because the soil down here wasn’t sustainable, but at least that should get you started!” 

“But the soil here-,” 

“It’s a big world, Clarke. Do you really think everything is truly gone?” Kane broke in. Clarke frowned. She couldn’t prove him wrong, not when they’d only seen a small portion. True, the fact that there was nothing to see yet did not bode well for the rest of the universe, but perhaps Kane was right. 

“We might as well try,” Bellamy said, but still seems jumpy. They’d get there tomorrow. They were sure as hell cutting it close unless they halved their rations. They could do that, Clarke thought internally, they were going to survive. 

“Until the end?” Bellamy asked, covering the radio for a second. Clarke gave a quiet smile. 

“I’ll go to the ends of the earth if you want to,” She said honestly. Bellamy gave the first genuine smile she’d seen in a while. 

“We’ll try,” Bellamy said, coming back to the radio. 

“Great! Sorta. Uhm, for sure radio us back, if you get the chance...I’ll just be waiting here, anxiously. Seeing if you can narrowly escape death...again.” 

“At this point, we’re rather masters at it,” Bellamy said jokingly. She could hear Jasper snort. 

“Right. I’ll get your mom and Octavia so you guys can talk to them.” But he didn’t leave right away, “Bellamy, you think I should tell her?” 

“That we’re inches from death?” Bellamy widened his eyes, “I’m not sure Jasper. I’m honestly just not sure. I’ll leave that choice up to you.” 


	5. DAYS 47 - 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you want some MORE angst with Bellarke? Coming right up!

_ DAY 47 _

Bellamy has always appreciated Clarke’s tenacity, but it’s not until right at this moment that he realizes just how unique and crucial it is.

Clarke is bright like the sun. She does not falter. As soon as she was given the direction to Arcadia, she packs up and makes the plan to go.

Bellamy knows that even if Clarke were alone, she would still survive this. Even if everything had gone wrong in a different universe, one where he went with the others to space, even if Clarke still collapsed the building, she would survive this.

It is not in Clarke’s DNA to give up.

She would nearly never admit defeat.

Bellamy felt it. He’d been trying to keep himself together the entire time. He kept thinking, well, if he had Clarke, it would all be okay. He kept thinking about the warmth of the bunker and how these years would be good. He’d get to truly meet his sister in a way he’d never gotten to before. He’d have the chance and all the time in the world to explore his feelings for Clarke, hopefully with Clarke. He’d be able to relax, knowing that the bunker was in the hands of others, and he could- for the first time in his life- let someone else plan it all. 

That moment when they both realized that they weren’t getting in, when they looked at their meager food source when they’d been inches away….the energy around them had been electric, like sparks in the air. 

He’d been close to kissing her. 

Even now, Clarke is still going.

Bellamy feels like he’s being tugged alone, unwittingly, his brain scattered and his mental facility spent. 

If he were the one alone, he is not sure he’d make it to Arkadia, even with the idea of seeing his sister again. 

Life for him has been one awful event after the other. If the roles were reversed, and he was unsure he’d ever see Clarke or his sister again, he can’t be certain he wouldn’t just cut his own losses and hope for a better afterlife. 

Clarke doesn't even have the thought in her mind. She will continue to push against the odds until they are undeniable. 

He is alive because of Clarke in every sense of the way. 

“We’re not getting in,” Bellamy finally finds his anxiety and says, “We could dig for years and...I don’t think…” 

“We have to figure something out,” Clarke said, “They’ll be trapped otherwise. True, we won’t live with them.” 

The words don’t seem as black and cruel from her lips as they feel to Bellamy. To him, this is like a death sentence. It is the loss of hope. It makes him feel so alone, so tiny in this wide world where they may be the only survivors, and he cannot understand how Clarke can just keep her chin up. 

Stars, Clarke was made for this world.

Not for the first time, he considers that he most obviously was not. 

Clarke throws the car into park and throws herself across the seat, hugging him tightly. 

“We will be fine,” She says. 

“Can you promise?” 

“I will,” She says, though it’s impossible to assure something of this magnitude. Still, when she says it, he wants to believe her. 

“I just feel so alone,” He admits. There’s no use hiding feelings from her. 

“I do understand,” She says, her lips cracked from the heat and her face slightly sunburnt, “Everyone we love is just from our reach. At least we know that Jasper and Octavia and my mom are alright,” She says, her voice perking up. 

No one mentions that they have no idea if the other group made it to the Ark. 

They could be floating out there in space, dead for over a month now. Like all the ones before them, having returned to the universe as space dust. 

Clarke takes the key, hopping from the car.

The ruins of Arcadia snuck up on Bellamy. Of course, he recalled that they’d been surrounded by a lake and dense forest, but that’s all gone now. Not a leaf left nor a drop of water remained. It was just a collection of metal clattering in the wind. 

“It’s like we were never here…” Bellamy mutters, following Clarke, his feet crunching across the remains of the camp. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have been,” Clarke says, hands rubbing her arms. It’s too hot for her to feel a chill, but Bellamy gets it. Finding the bones in Polis had been sobering, but walking through their former home was something worse. 

Bellamy starts to sift. He knows if he lets himself pause, that darkness will eat him up inside. That feeling of loneliness will swallow him. 

He’s always been able to persevere if he has a goal. This goal is not quite so tangible, but it’s something.

Look for useful items. Anything, and load them in the car. 

“We can’t stay here either,” Clarke clicks her tongue, as though she thought that perhaps they’d be able to set up in this area. The entire place is just pieces of metal, though. Not even a form, just shells of a memory. 

“No. Feels ghostly.” Bellamy agrees. He has started a pile. 

Clarke starts to move things around too. She’d brought that long stick with her, and Bellamy couldn’t deny her it. Her fingers tighten around it, like a life-line. 

“Okay. Okay,” Clarke plants it into the ground, leaning against it, “Jasper said that the box is buried near the entrance. But, fuck, where is the entrance anymore?” 

Bellamy pauses. His eyes scan. “Well, there’s a shape that sort of looks like the door. Maybe.” He’s not sure about anything. Clarke seems to see it too, though, for she starts digging, her hands upending the ashy dirt, shoving away bits of coil, wire, and metal to clear her path. 

“Six feet under,” Clarke muttered, “God, I hope that was low enough.” 

Bellamy does not move to help her. He is glued to his spot, watching her, lip quivering. 

_ How the hell will they make it five years?  _

It seems almost too easy that Clarke finds it on her ‘first go’. Sure, it takes about two hours of digging a large pit, but they’d found the ‘entrance’ without much effort.

The box is not destroyed, so it bodes well for the seed packets inside. Clarke sighs in relief, but Bellamy is not convinced. 

“Okay, we have seeds,” He hisses, “We can’t eat seeds.” 

They have to find soil that will take the seeds. And wait for those seeds to grow. And harvest them. They have months, at the least, before those seeds are viable. And that’s if they weren’t ruined by the radiation anyway, and maybe by that chance, it will be too late. 

“Bell, have some faith,” Clarke sighs, “It’s more than we had yesterday.” 

She is too smart to not have thought of those same issues, but somehow, she is still smiling. 

Bellamy slumps off, too tired to argue and too sad to use possibly his last moments fighting with Clarke. But at the same time, if he stays, he’ll yell, and he just needs a second alone.

He chuckles to himself. Ironic; he has all the space in the world, literally. 

In the back area, as he’s half-heartedly kicking around, he finds what he thinks might have been the bunks of the people who had lived here. 

Most things were taken in the hopes of utilizing it in the bunker or destroyed by the fires. 

He does come across a locked box though. 

Curiosity wins him over, so he takes a rock to the lock and whatever strength he has to open it. 

When Clarke finds him, he’s sobbing. 

He should have known that coming to a place like this would only bring forth ghosts. 

“I should have...we should have done more…” Bellamy shudders, guilt having settled across his shoulders like a heavy blanket. He always heard the stories of Atlas, but it’s not until right now that he thinks that he’s always been that great but haggard hero, holding the world on his shoulders.

But not right now. He’s dropped it entirely. 

Clarke kneels next to him, her face painted with sorrow as she dips her hands inside of the box. 

Back when they’d been sent to earth, along with their arm trackers, they’d all been given vintage and antique dog tags. In case something ate someone’s face and on Earth, they had to identify a body, which had happened, or in case they were all stupid and took off their trackers...which had also happened. 

He didn’t know someone had been collecting the tags. In all his efforts to keep these kids, fucking children, alive...he’d missed the fact that whenever someone was buried, they were not wearing their tags. 

It was a box of everyone they’d lost. Everyone he couldn’t save. All the people that they’d failed. 

Was there a better way? Could everything have been avoided? If they’d landed elsewhere or if they’d been less foolhardy or if they’d focused on staying alive instead of tasting freedom...then just maybe…

Bellamy being the oldest had placed him in a position of power, but it wasn’t until now that he realized how much he’d felt like a father to all of the children, and how losing each one had felt like his own children were dying. 

A child shouldn’t die before their parents. He and Clarke should have done more. 

“Fuck,” Clarke whispers, palms coming up with a handful of little metal chains, all clinking together. She turns one over; Fox’s. She’d had such kind eyes and the quickest hands, “Who...who’s was this?” 

Bellamy opened his own fist to show one tag, one that had been taped to the top of the box, along with a note that said ‘I’m sorry. Life has taken me down.’ 

“Al Cozens.” Clarke says. He’d been part of the 100 sent down; a stringy little Asian kid. There had been rumors he’d been involved in a treason attempt, but no one had ever gotten out of him why he was truly there. He’d been meticulous and extremely organized, so it made sense he’d been collecting it. 

But like everyone, there had been a shadowy part to him. One Bellamy understood well right now. 

“He committed suicide. I heard it from Monty. There was a big group of them; Riley had accidentally overdosed, and before we got to the bunker, people just figured…” Bellamy shrugged. 

“Oh.” 

They laid them out. Fifty in total; though they both knew that there was less than 50 of their first group remaining. Some of the bodies had likely been impossible to find, or their tags had been taken. Some kids had gotten rid of their tags the moment they stepped off the ship. Still, it was an impressive, but horrible, array. 

“We’ll be taking this,” said Clarke, “And tomorrow we’ll keep going. Alright?” 

Bellamy had no reason to argue.

Fuck. He hoped she was right.

_ Day 51 _

What did it take to break the spirit of a truly positive person?

This, Bellamy realized, this is what it took. 

Clarke’s hopeful mantras and smiling face had been slowly fading away in the past couple of days. It was hard to notice at first; she might have seemed a bit duller as they continued on, aimlessly driving through the never-ending sands, but at first, Bellamy thought he was imagining it. 

But he was not. Clarke was no longer as sure as she once was.

The truly frustrating thing was that she started by dropping her determinism only when she thought Bellamy was not around to see it. She’d be grabbing something from the back of the van, she would pause before waking him up to drive, or it would be when they were both supposed to be sleeping and Bellamy would just see it. He’d see the unsureness flood her and her entire body quake, but whenever he was around, she was back to a version of herself that seemed annoyingly chipper. 

That’s when he realized that she was putting on his show for  _ him.  _

Bellamy was torn between furious and embarrassed. Furious that she was being so insistently sure about the situation, giving him that hope, when he was no longer sure that she believed that. It was the end of the world, Clarke could stand to be truthful with him, couldn't’ she? But as all that faded, he was just left with unyielding embarrassment. Embarrassed that his disposition was so gloomy and despondent that Clarke felt like she had to over-compensate to assure the mood in the rover did not surpass hopeless. 

Stars, was he that obvious? 

But her mood was all but gone now. As they staggered through the desert, she looked close to shattering at the slightest touch. 

This was Clarke’s breaking point. 

The last time either had food or water was the night in Arkadia. Clarke had just said, “Well, I suppose we’ll have to find what’s out there for us,” as though it were a puzzle map, a treasure trove waiting just for them. 

Bellamy had gone days without food, that wasn’t unusual. Upon the Ark, he usually gave his food to Octavia, even though his mother didn’t like him doing so. They were stretching it thin as it was.

But without water…? 

Bellamy was intelligent. He’d been the star of his classes. It was the one place a day where he could empty his mind of Octavia and those worries and just focus on the learning at hand. Teachers lauded him and everyone was so excited to see what he’d become. 

So, he knew full well that they would not survive much longer without water. Their days were numbered, literally. 

No, not days.

Day. Singular. 

Their rover had gotten caught in some sand a bit back. They’d both drove and drove and drove until they literally could no longer. At this point, neither had the energy to be up much longer than a few hours, so they switched off drivers while the other slept in place of meals. 

When the car had hit a place where it seemed the sand swallowed it and they knew that they surely would not be able to dig it out with their reserves of strength, Bellamy had been the one who suggested they walk. 

“Maybe we just need to go over that ridge,” He’d said, voice warbling at Clarke’s completely empty face. 

So now, here they were, walking to nowhere. 

If there was green anywhere, they weren’t going to find it.

Bellamy knew this somewhere deep in his chest, but he did not want to be the first one to give in. Not after all Clarke had done for him. 

That’s what someone did with a person they cared about. They took turns building the other up. Clarke had done so for all the days leading to now, so it was only fair that Bellamy- despite his good sense- tried to do the same for her. 

The sands whipped around them as they stumbled through the landscape. They were down in a valley, where the winds were not as harsh and there were little slices of shade from the places where the large figures of rocky mountains towered above them. They had packed on most of the gear from the rover, confident there was no one to steal it and had fashioned protective gear from the sun and sand the best they could. 

There was a change in Clarke’s walking. Before, it had been measured and paced. Bellamy saw her stumble a bit and then, her next few steps were wide leaps, as though she were jumping over crevices. 

Then she began to shed.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, frowning. 

Clarke moved as though she did not hear him. She unraveled her head-wrap, her backpack, her walking stick. She took off all the protective layers and all the items they’d hoarded, littering them behind her. It was as though she were possessed, her eyes glassy and her face unreadable. 

She took three more steps forward and collapsed. 

“Clarke!” 

Bellamy dived for her, rolling her onto her back and patting her face. Her eyes stared up at the sky without seeing, the light flickering away from her...slowly, inch by inch. 

“Clarke, no,” Bellamy whispered, unclasping his canteen and shaking the last three drops of water between her lips, shaking his head. 

Something covered the sun, just for a moment, and before Bellamy could process, a bird was swooping down and pecking at Clarke’s leg. 

“Fuck you! Get away!” Bellamy hissed, lunging for the carrion beast, but the knowledge that Clarke was inches from death terrified him. 

Clarke groaned, squirming as the bird bit at her exposed ankle. She groggily lifted her head, but when she saw the animal, it was like a fire was lit underneath her. 

“Shoo!” Bellamy spat one last time, and the bird took off. 

“No! Wait! Show me where you live!” Clarke said, scrambling to her feet, a burst of strength given to her, as though some god placed it within her, “Bellamy if this thing is still kicking…” She didn’t finish before she was frantically running after it, her fingers clawing up the side of the basin.

Stars, Bellamy was an idiot. Clarke was right! 

He followed after her, a sureness in his chest that if they just made it to the top…

His breath left him. 

Even on the top of the world, all around, there was still nothing for them. And the bird was long gone. 

“No...no, no, no.” Clarke began to murmur, “It can’t...be. It cannot be.” She said, grasping Bellamy’s wrist so hard he thought she might break it. 

Clarke stepped forward, but the sand swiftly moved beneath her. She was still gripping Bellamy, and despite his best efforts to stop them, they went tumbling down the dune. Bellamy still had some control over his body, whereas Clarke was like a rag doll, hitting the rocks that jutted out and only managing a limp groan as she came in contact with them.

Bellamy hit his chest hard as he landed, knocking the wind out of him. As he sputtered, spitting up more dust and sand than air, he tried to find Clarke. His vision swam and his head felt it was being split in two. 

The first thing he heard was a buzzing. No, not a buzzing, a caterwaul. For one second, Bellamy was sure that it was the feral screech of an awakened spirit, something so piercing and so horrible to his ears that he felt his vision ebb. 

It was Clarke, he realized, watching her mouth open and hearing the sound. It wasn’t perfectly synched up, like some of the old movies on the Ark that were just a beat ahead of the video. 

_ My god, Clarke’s gone crazy… _

“I’m done!” Clarke pushed herself to her knees, lifting the sand and watching it sift through her fingers. Bellamy rolled to sit, his mind lagging. He felt like he was having some sort of strange out of body experience, one where he was experiencing this happening, watching Clarke break in front of him, but not quite reacting to it. Or, as he was realizing what she was saying, she was long onto her next words. 

“Do you hear me? I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost my friends...my father...my mother...I’m about to lose Bellamy too…” She looked back, her voice crackling off from her yell to the universe, hardly above an audible whisper, “There’s nothing left. There’s nothing left.” She was looking at him, but not in his eyes. Just at his figure, as though trying to capture it in her memory forever. Bellamy was still hazy, and he wanted to comfort her, but his mind was working half-speed. 

Everyone came into a jarringly sharp focus, however, as Clarke took the gun from the holster on her belt and checked that there were still two bullets. 

“Bellamy,” She whispered, absolutely no emotion behind her voice, “It’s...time…” 

Bellamy stumbled on his knees to her. He was done fighting. He had no reason left to. He didn’t think there had been anything in this dusty land, and he’d been right. 

He’d been hopeful as long as he could, and then some. 

Clarke lifted the gun, brushing aside the hair of his temple, fingers pausing to knit in his hair for just a second.

The gun was shaky in her fingers.

“Let me,” Bellamy said. 

He sighed, taking the gun from her fingers. He’d been about to kiss her the last time they were at death, but at this moment, he could not. How awful would it be to finally kiss Clarke, to know what it felt like, and never get to again? To always wonder, to always wish there had just been more time. 

It was the kinder thing that they remained an unasked and unanswered question. 

However, he hoped that she knew that offering to be the one to kill her was his way of saying he loved her. Killing her so she did not have to live with that guilt, however brief. Killing her first so she’d never have to live without him, even if he would be seconds behind her. 

Clarke leaped for him, but not for a kiss. Just for a hug, one they’d shared so many times before. They held on for what felt like forever, shaking in each other’s arms, neither wanting to cut this moment short. They both knew what was on the other end of it, as right in nature as it was. 

Clarke pulled away first. Bellamy did not think he’d have the strength, so he was grateful. She took the gun, guiding his hand, placing it right up to her temple. 

“Make it clean.” 

Make it clean because there are only two bullets. Make it clean so that it’s immediate. Make it clean so I do not linger, so there is no pain. Make it clean, Bell. 

He could see the resolve in her eyes. Just as she had set out days ago to find salvation, she was not set on their death. If he chickened out...she would not. 

He started to pull the trigger and then...something cut across the sky. 

Bellamy threw the gun before Clarke could do something stupid. 

“It’s back!” He gasped, “The vulture!” 

“Bellamy-,” Clarke curled into a ball, “No...no…”

“Clarke, c’mon, just another hill. Please. For me.” He said. Something was pressing him forward. Something was telling him to follow that damn bird. 

Clarke swallowed and nodded. 

He grabbed the gun; he knew if there was nothing over that ridge, they surely would not have the mental strength to go on. 

Hand in hand they follow it over the bowl’s lip, throwing themselves forward, clawing and shoving sand down behind them. And over the next, and the next. Neither said that they’d gone far longer than Bellamy had said, but Clarke’s will had seemed to return and Bellamy would follow her to the end of the earth if he needed to. 

Just when Bellamy felt ill enough that he was throwing up bile and felt his muscles tighten and his mind starts to fuzz, Clarke helped to pull him up over one more ridge. 

Over the edge, on the top, the world was washed in green. 

Bellamy and Clarke stood for a moment, staring. 

“Are we hallucinating?” Clarke whispered. 

“You see it too?” Bellamy asked, and at Clarke’s slow nod, he gave a gasping, half-sobbing laugh, “Then we can’t be. We both see it. We both see it.” 

Bellamy had seen many beautiful things but this beat out all the rest. 

They were going to survive. 

Clarke turned, and before she could say a single word, Bellamy grasped her cheeks. His hands were calloused and rough, both of their lips were chapped, their skin was peeling from sunburns, their breath smelled, and their bodies were worse...but kissing Clarke was the second best experience in his entire life, second only to the moment that had preceded this.

Clarke surged up into the kiss, pulling on his hair, arms curling around his neck as she pulled him down so she could stand on both feet. Every time Bellamy thought he was going to pull away, he found himself going back in again, unable to stop. 

Above them, the vulture cawed. 

Bellamy finally did extract himself, pulling the gun from his own holster. With the aim of a true marksman, he held the gun squarely and fired.

The vulture fell a few yards from the entrance to paradise. 

“Thank you,” Bellamy chuckled, “You bloody, annoying, amazing bird.” 


	6. DAYS 52-54

_ DAY 52 _

Bellamy was riding on a high. It could just be, he considered, the fact that they’d narrowly escaped death once again, or possibly because they really hadn’t anything substantial to eat in days and so even the smells wafting from the vulture were the most tantalizing, scrumptious thing Bellamy had ever tasted. He felt like he looked like an idiot with a grin on his face.

Or, he considered as he turned to Clarke, it could be because of her. 

Because he’d kissed her and she’d kissed back. 

Part of him had hoped Clarke would be wearing the same stupid grin on her face. He hoped that as they traveled through this green forest, which felt unreal and like a utopia he could have only dreamed of, he hoped her mood would improve. He hoped once they’d eaten - and boy did they, they picked every morsel of meat from that bird- her mood would improve. He hoped as they traveled further in and found no enemies, only lush plants and cawing birds, she’d start to smile. 

She hadn’t, though, not yet.

He tried not to take it personally. He was a romantic, so sure, he hoped that one day he could be her moon and sun and the stars, but mentally she was pretty rough. He’d talked her off the ledge, so of course, she didn’t bounce right back. But seeing Clarke so quiet, still, was worrying to him. 

He’d admit that he wasn’t used to having to be this way, not around Clarke. He was the grumpier one and she was the smiling sunshine. He knew their roles. Still, he tried to get her to crack a grin.

Anything. 

They came down a rocky cliff a couple of hours after their meal, Bellamy using a large log to brace himself and help with his legs as he clambered down. Clarke stood at the edge of it, hands on her hips, sighing. 

“Fancy a swim?” 

“Here?” Clarke furrowed her eyebrows, “Now?” 

“Well, why not? We’re both sandy. I have sand in places there shouldn’t be sand,” Bellamy shuddered and took a shoe off. He deposited an impressive pile of dirt on the banks before dipping a toe in, “Not too cold.” 

“Maybe…” Clarke considered. 

“Come on.” Bellamy prodded. He hoped that perhaps once she felt clean again because he always felt more human when he was clean, that she’d start to feel better. 

He fished things from his pockets, dropping them into the soft edge of the lake before wading in in his clothes. They could use a good wash too. He turned, about to tease Clarke, but saw her stripping down to just a bra and underwear and all his words caught in his throat. 

“What?” Clarke said, the first hint of humor returning to her face, “Who’s gonna see besides you?” She teased, diving under the water like a fish. 

Bellamy barked out a laugh and reached for her, pulling her down into the water. She climbed on his back, dunking his head. It felt so playful, so carefree that for a second, Bellamy was not himself anymore. He couldn’t even claim that he’d ever done this as a child because there weren't wide pools of water on the ARK, and as soon as Octavia was born, he all but grew into an adult. 

No, it was something more. It was like, just for that time in the water, he and Clarke transcended themselves, splashing and making enough noise to summon any animals left around, but nothing came. No sea monsters, no wolves, no apes that could tear them limb from limb. It truly seemed like they were the biggest and baddest things in this forest. In fact, he hadn’t seen a mammal bigger than a rabbit. 

For the first time ever, Bellamy felt truly safe and utterly blissful. He wondered if this was how life was always supposed to feel? He honestly couldn’t think of a higher high than right now; the moments that start with kissing Clarke. 

As the sun beat down on them, they floated in the water together, side by side. Their fingers were clammy and wrinkled and he’d inhaled more lake water than he’d had in his entire life. He felt at ease with the universe, and at ease with Clarke. 

As the sun crept below the horizon, Clarke swam back, “We’d better find a place to make a fire.” 

Okay, she still had the will to live. Good? 

However, as soon as she exited, that scowl was back on her face. It only deepened as he stoked a campfire for them near the shore. He managed to catch a few minnows by the shallows and roasted them over the fire. It was probably for the best; overeat too fast and too soon, and they’d just barf up whatever they just had. Still, more protein could never be denied. 

Clarke hardly ate. No, that wasn’t true. She ate the first fish with the same gusto she’d devoured the bird. It was as she reached for her second that she became quiet, nibbling, and looking ill. When he offered Clarke the third minnow, and she refused it despite the way her stomach growled, he had enough. 

“Okay, what the hell?” 

“What?” Clarke asked, her voice monotone. 

“We survived Clarke. We’re alive in this incredible forest and you’re just...just…” He couldn’t even find a word to describe her, “I don’t expect you to be jumping for joy, but would it kill you to smile? Or try not to starve yourself?” He said. He was more than a little frustrated. They were the only ones left. He couldn’t do this without her. He didn’t want to exist with a shadow of a person for five years, he needed his partner who fixed every problem without so much as a blink. 

He needed Clarke back. 

Clarke looked at him, face unreadable. He wondered if he’d gone too far until she started to speak quietly, “I used to think that life was more than just surviving. I had to on the ARK, down here. I had to think there was something more, something bigger that I was reaching towards.” 

“Okay?” 

“I’m not so convinced anymore,” She gave a grim smile, “Animals don’t feel guilty when they kill. They just do it. They kill, or they get killed. And I told myself that every life I took was for a reason, but the truth is, the other side had reasons too.” 

“You’re not an animal, Clarke. We’re human.” 

“You are. I’m not sure I’m…” Clarke bit her lip hard, “Even the days leading up to this were just survival, nothing more. And for what? What happens after this?” 

“Well, the Grounders and Octavia come out from the bunker and our friends return down here and-,” 

“And there’s more fights over this area? More wars? For what end?” Clarke demanded, “It’s all I’ve known. The Grounders, the Mountain Men, even A.L.I.E. Their reasons they wanted us dead were the same as ours. And they’re all gone and I’m not.” 

“Yes, we’re still here.” 

“They’re gone because I became death,” Clarke said, twirling a bone from a fish between her fingers, “It’s what I learned to do. I wore it like a badge, even if I pretended I didn’t want to. I killed so many,” She raised her eyes to meet Bellamy, “What becomes the Commander of Death when there’s no one left to kill? I’m not sure if I know who I am or what I want out of life anymore, Bell.” 

Bellamy was silent for a long time. He was torn between wanting to shake her and remind her that he helped her kill most of those people too, that she was doing it for her people. Still, he understood. Now that Octavia was gone, leading her own people, Bellamy could admit that there had been brief moments he’d felt astray too. His entire identity had been tied to keeping Octavia safe. He was the Big Brother. But she was far below the ground and he was up here and there was no one else to lead. 

Who were two leaders left when the world was empty? 

“I know what I want,” He finally spoke. Clarke tilted her head, waiting for him to continue. It was the truth. His own desires were the same as they’d always been, perhaps more finely tuned with fewer options as it were. Or, perhaps he’d just let himself ask himself what it was he too was looking forward to. 

“I want to explore the world, or what’s left of it. I want to watch the sunrise and set and eat good food and learn how to cook. I want to build a house for myself and probably fail a couple of times, but be proud of it. I want to prepare this place so when our friends do come back, it will be so good for all of us. When the five years are up, I want to make a community. I want to…” He swallowed hard, unsure if it was worth saying so candidly to Clarke, but in the pursuit of honesty, he couldn’t help to include it, “I want a family. I want to be a father and be a good dad. I want to plant flowers, metaphorically and literally, and do good for all the bad I have done. It would feel terribly unfair of me to have caused so much heartache and not try to fix it somehow, you know?” He asked. 

Clarke didn’t reply, but as it was, he’d just dumped a lot to unpack on her. He didn’t include it yet but he wanted to add that he wanted to do all those things with her. 

“If you’re feeling unsure, that’s fine,” He said, “And you can make my dreams yours too, I’m not selfish about them,” He said with a chuckle, “But stars, Clarke, don't waste it. Not now. That would feel rather foolish, all things considered.” 

He did not expect an answer right now, nor the rest of the night. He found a bundle of leaves to help make a pillow with his pack and curled up next to the fire, his intention for sleep clear. It was a few moments, but he heard Clarke do the same. 

He hoped she’d feel better in the morning. 

_ DAY 53 _

Clarke woke at the crack of dawn. Bellamy was sleeping on his side, snoring. He had a little bit of drool on his lip and one arm was thrown out in what seemed like an incredibly uncomfortable position, but he looked like he’d never slept better.

When he woke, she’d have to tell him that the slap to the face he’d pretty much given her last night had been...incredibly needed. 

For some ungodly reason, she had been spared. Thousand times over. Now, Clarke wasn’t sure if she truly believed in a greater power out there, but she was more inclined to believe it. If she wasn’t meant to still do something great, why was she still around? 

She might not be sure what she wanted by the times her friends returned, three years from now, or even what she wanted tomorrow, but she was at least interested in exploring those choices, unlike last night. 

She shuddered to think what she might have done without Bellamy. Humans weren’t meant to be alone, she decided. 

She found some blueberries and hoped he’d understand it was more than a peace offering, but an apology of sorts. She hadn’t quite found the right words to express her gratitude for all Bellamy had done for her, but she would. Eventually. 

They ate before setting off again, searching for that great unknown something. 

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Bellamy said. Since it seemed he had a much clearer picture of what he wanted in this life, Clarke allowed him to take the lead. 

In the middle of the woods, he paused, “It’s a path.” He said, pointing. Clarke squinted and saw a place where, though the plants had begun to grow over the ground, there was a place with much less foliage than the places surrounding it. With a quick exchange of glances and a shrug, they followed to see where it would lead. Along the way, Clarke found places where tree bark was rubbed smooth, thousands of hands passing, and touching the trees as they traced this route. She was just about to suggest that perhaps there had been an organized group that had existed here when they came upon a wooden sign from the old world, marked over by the Grounders. 

“Shadow Valley Clan,” Clarke said, tracing the lines of the etching. At least she knew where they were now. She’d only met a handful of these types of Grounders, none of which she knew well enough to feel strange to be walking through this area. It didn’t feel like they were raiding a house, it felt like they were going through a place where before others had existed. 

“This could be good or bad,” Bellamy said but didn’t reach for his gun. There was no one left anymore. 

As they came to an area where the trees thinned, Clarke looked up at the sky. She saw the clouds rolling past and gave a quirk of a smile.

“They’ll never believe this,” Clarke said, speaking of the ones who went back to the ARK, “It’s like...like the Death Wave skipped over this entire place. A glitch.” She giggled, a warm laugh filling her for the first time in days. 

Bellamy gave a soft smile her way but was distracted. Clarke followed his gaze to see a flicker of something bright blue out of the corner of her eye. They ducked under an arch of intertwined branches to find the home of the Shadow Valley Clan. They both stood in awe for a second; a perfect collection of buildings curled with nature. There were ribbons and tie-dyed scraps flying everywhere; a cheery welcome. It felt homey and natural and inviting. Polis had always felt a little dirty and dingy and Luna’s barge had felt industrial, but this had been what Clarke had imagined when her mother told her they were going down to the ground all those months ago. This is what she hoped they would have gotten to one day.

It seems, in a roundabout way, she still got her to wish. 

They moved slowly, in a sense of reverence and awe, like they were treading on hallowed ground. There was something ethereal about this location; about the stillness of everything and the emptiness. It felt too empty...unsettling so. 

As they came upon the main structure, Bellamy suddenly shielded Clarke. She bumped right into his chest. 

“We should explore that way.” He said in a rushed tone.

“Bell-,” Clarke huffed, trying to duck under his arm. He was resolutely against it, which just made her try harder. After a few seconds of a scuffle, she came around his side, evading him, and came face to face...with the body of a child. 

“The Death Wave skipped, but the radiation didn’t,” Bellamy said quietly. 

He’d been trying to spare her of this sight, as though she had not seen the faces of those that past before this. As though she had not caused death before this. It was still a touching gesture, deep down, but an unreasonable one. Plus, if he’d been planning on bearing the weight of having to depose of this body alone, he was being stupid. 

“Together,” Clarke said out loud, and perhaps from Bellamy’s expression, he understood what she meant. 

Clarke knelt down. He was so  _ young.  _ Painfully so; maybe only six. He had curly blond hair and freckles across his face, his face that was slashed with boils and burns. He seemed almost peaceful here.

In Polis, there had only been bones. 

It was both a blessing and a curse that it had only been the radiation to reach deep into the forest here. 

The door to the main structure was locked. Bellamy shouldered it open. The first room was filled with furniture and items and was empty. The second door, even before Clarke opened it, she got the feeling of something awful. 

The moment the doors pulled the air toward them, both Bellamy and Clarke gagged into their hands as the stench of decay filled their nostrils. Clarke’s eyes burned as she stared up hundreds of Shadow Valley members in this room. 

It was like Mount Weather all over again. They looked like they’d just been gathering for a meal, or perhaps Clarke could pretend that. That they were just frozen in time, not dead.

The lingering smell begged to differ. 

“We should bury them.” Bellamy’s voice cracked. 

“That will take days. And if there’s still lingering radiation…” She swallowed hard, “No, it would be better to burn the bodies. We’ll bury the ashes.” She said, taking charge. Bellamy’s face was pinched with sorrow as he stared upon the bodies of those who hadn’t made it into the bunker. He came upon a pair of grounders holding hands, embraced in a firm grip, with a small child sitting on the mother’s lap, burrowed into her chest. 

“I know,” Clarke whispered, reading his expression. It seemed wrong to have to move them to burn the bodies, to interrupt this, “But they’re dead. They died altogether and hopefully their spirits are in a better place. It’s just bodies now.” 

In a different structure, they found some clothes that were untouched. They tied shirts around their nose and found a pair of gloves. They worked the rest of the day ferrying bodies out to a fire a mile away from the camp...it was no use to burn them where they planned on living, not when this was so perfectly offered for them. 

Clarke tried to tell herself that these people were dead, so she should feel no shame in taking their homes. She had not come in to kill them. Still, she wondered if ghosts would haunt the grounds, faces of those past appearing just on the edges of her dreams. 

The burning was grueling, difficult work, especially for two underfed individuals. It took all of that day and the next before it seemed that every body was found and given back to the earth. Two-hundred and sixty-five in total, ages ranging from old and frail to young and fat-faced. 

As they put the last body on the pyre, they stood in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder. Bellamy leaned on his shovel, which he’d been using to dig small and shallow graves for the bones and ashes, biting his lip. 

“It’s bitter work,” He murmured. 

Clarke nudged him, offering only a tiny smile. Much more would have been inappropriate for the circumstance, “Not with you.” 

Bellamy’s eyes cast upwards. His eyes flickered among the stars and she knew he was hoping to catch a glimpse of the ARK, as impossible as it might be, “It would be easier if I knew they were alive. That they’d made it,” He murmured. 

“Positive thoughts,” Clarke said, though her chest constricted at the idea because it was quite possible, “We’ll see them again. And when we do, it will be beautiful here. We’ll make a home for them, for all of us.” 

“Yeah?” Bellamy asked, turning. Clarke nodded. She didn’t say it explicitly out loud, but she’d decided what she wanted the rest of her life to be. Bellamy’s plan sounded pretty good. 

“We have a lot of work to do before they arrive, but maybe tonight, we take a break. I saw a few books that survived.” She offered, reaching her hand out for him to take. His palm was sweaty from work but so warm in hers, “I could read it out loud or you could read it out loud or we could both read separately or-,” 

“All of it sounds fantastic.” 


End file.
